Chapter Eight

 

The Clue to the Great Lizard

 

 

Laurel and Aisling decided to spend the rainy afternoon going through the books in Sarie’s spare room, which doubled as her library. They had all the books that even remotely looked like they might contain a clue to the Great Lizard in a haphazard pile by the bed. The rest of the books they returned to the shelves, although maybe not quite as neatly as they were before.

“My goodness,” exclaimed Aisling brushing her hair back out of her eyes, “let’s hope there’s something here to at least point us in the right direction.”

“Do you think it might be something on the Lizard Peninsula, maybe at Lizard Point?” Laurel narrowed her eyes to squint at the faded map pinned to the wall. “My friend had a thoroughbred called Cornish Prince and his aire was Lizard Point. Kind of a coincidence, don’t you think.”

Aisling laid the book she was holding down on the quilt beside her and studied the map, too. “I thought you said the seal guy told you it was close to where you live. The Lizard is a fair distance from here,” Aisling pondered.

“I guess.”

The Cornish idea of a far distance was very different from her experience in Alberta, where Calgary is considered fairly close to Edmonton as it’s only about three hours north on the Number 2 highway.

“What’s closer to here that even has lizard in its name though?” Laurel said with exasperation.

She walked over to the map and glared at it. We should have figured this out by now.

“Look with my heart he said. How am I supposed to do that? I’ve tried and tried.” She threw herself down on the small bed under the window.

Aisling turned, leaned on the wall by the map, and watched the rain hit the window.

“We’ve got to be missing something really obvious,” Aisling mused. “Lord, I feel like I’ve gone Bodmin.” She rubbed her forehead.

“What’s that mean?”

“Means going mental,” Aisling replied. “There’s a mental hospital on Bodmin Moor.”

“Then I should check in, too.”

Aisling turned back to frown at the map. “Maybe the boys will find something today. Coll said they were going over to Church Cove to visit old Mr. Albion. They promised to see if they could get Mr. Albion to tell some old stories about the area.”

“Let’s hope they’re having better luck than we are.”

Laurel leaned over to take another book from the pile. She over balanced and knocked the whole lot of them flying. Aisling jumped out of the way as the books crashed around her feet.

“Damn it all to hell!” Dad’s favorite phrases came in handy when things did not go as planned.

Aisling knelt and began to gather the books up.

“Maybe we should try to sort them into…” Aisling began.

Sarie’s voice echoed up the narrow stairwell. “What are you girls up to?”

“It’s all okay, Sarie. I just knocked over some books. Sorry.” The last thing she wanted was for Sarie to think they weren’t being careful with the old books.

“Lunch will be ready in about fifteen minutes,” Sarie called back. Her footsteps retreated to the kitchen at the back of the house.

Aisling already had most of the books back into some semblance of order. Laurel picked up an old tattered book with a smeared title on the frontispiece and a bunch of papers fluttered out of it.

Aisling looked horrified. “Bloody hell,” she whispered. “Did we do that? Sarie will be flaming mad.”

Laurel picked up the topmost paper. “It looks like a letter, it’s all handwritten. I don’t think it was actually part of the book,” she told a relieved Aisling.

The date on the letter was May, 1965. Carefully putting the letter on the bed, she gathered the rest of the papers. The corner of an old photo was stuck under the edge of another book. Laurel pulled it free and gasped; there staring up at her were two girls about fifteen or sixteen. The girl on the left was Sarie.

“Ash, look at this! It’s an old picture of Sarie and someone. Do you know who the other girl is?”

Aisling studied the photo. “I don’t think it’s anyone I know,” she said slowly. “But look where they are. They’re by the big rock cairn out at Land’s End. You know the one where we lost you and then found you again.”

Laurel’s heart started to pound against her ribs. “Do you think this is a clue? But that can’t be. There isn’t any place that has anything to do with a lizard near there. Is there?”

“I don’t think so,” Aisling said and turned the photo over in her hands. “There’s something written on the back.” Aisling moved closer to the rain-drenched window to take advantage of the extra bit of light filtering through. “It says Sara and Arabella, Sept 1961.”

“Did you say Arabella? My grandma’s name was Arabella. It kinda looks like her, too.”

“Really,” Aisling squealed softly. “Maybe it is a clue of some kind. It seems too much of a coincidence otherwise.”

Aisling passed her the photo. Laurel looked at the laughing young woman closely, trying to see some resemblance to her dad. Their eyes were the same and the smile. She turned the photo over to look more closely at the writing.

“Look, Ash, someone else wrote on here, too. I think it says,” she peered at the faded pencil inscription, “‘me and Bella at Seal Rock.’ Seal Rock. It says Seal Rock, and it’s definitely the same rock pile where I met Gwin Scawen and Vear Du. This has to mean something! Gramma Bella must have been friends with Sarie when they were young. That’s how Mom knows her.”

“Where’s the book that they fell out of?” Aisling scanned the floor for the tattered old book.

“It’s right here.” Laurel fished the book out of the folds of the quilt. “It looks like it’s all about St. Michael’s Mount.” She handed the book to Aisling.

“It is.” Aisling looked at the faded smeared cover. There was a sepia-tinted engraving of the island in the bay topped by the castle. “That’s a landmark very close to where you live.” Aisling handed the book back.

She started to thumb through the pages, looking for something written in the margins, or on the inside of the covers. Her nose started to twitch suddenly; she held the book close to her face and inhaled.

“Ash, what does this smell like to you?”

Laurel excitedly handed the book to Aisling and bounced from foot to foot waiting for the answer. Aisling took the book, crinkling her nose as she sniffed carefully. She put the book safely on an empty shelf.

“It smells like musty old book and tobacco.”

Her fist punched the air. “I knew it!”

“Knew what?”

“It smells like Vear Du’s tobacco. This must be a clue, but what does St. Michael’s Mount have to do with a great lizard?” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “But St. Michael’s Mount is an island. Vear did say the great lizard emerges from the sea!”

“If we can just put all the pieces together. I wonder why Sarie never said she was friends with your grandmother?”

“Do you think I should ask her? You know how crusty she gets when you ask something she doesn’t want to talk about.”

“Maybe wait and see what kind of mood she’s in at lunch.”

Laurel put the photo on the shelf beside the old book and picked up the letter from the quilt.

“Maybe there will be some answers in here.” She started to read. Aisling sat beside her so she could read it at the same time.

“Girls.” Sarie’s voice called from the foot of the stairs making both girls jump. “Lunch is on the table.”

“Coming, Sarie,” they chorused.

Reluctantly, Laurel folded the old letters and placed them safely back inside the front cover of the faded book. Together, the girls clattered down the stairs.

“Just wait ‘til we tell the boys,” Aisling whispered as they hurried down the narrow hall to the warm kitchen.

Sarie had a lunch of cheese sandwiches and tea set on the table along with some scones and clotted cream. The rain beat against the windows lining the back of the little kitchen. Under the windows was a long counter Sarie used for preparing meals and countless other things the girls could only guess at. A cheerful fire in the hearth sent lovely warmth through the kitchen. Laurel loved to sit and watch the patterns the flames made and the soot pictures that emerged on the back of the hearth as the flames made the residue collected there flare and glow.

The wind howled and whined as it found the cracks around the windowpanes and whooshed past the chimney with a hollow roar. The wet grass whipped in the wind; the ponies huddled in their shelter trying to keep out of the wet. The pony field was just outside the back door of the kitchen, and the little stone barn was a shapeless blur through the driving rain. Laurel wondered if they should go and rescue the poor ponies and tuck them into the warm, dry barn. Sarie turned from the cooker to put the teapot on the trivet sitting on the oilcloth-covered table. She caught the direction of her gaze.

“We can go out after lunch and put the poor souls in ‘til the wind drops a bit,” Sarie said over the noise of the storm. “They look like seals.”

Laurel and Aisling exchanged startled looks at Sarie’s reference to seals. She opened her mouth to ask Sarie about Arabella and the old picture but caught Aisling’s eye and stopped. It was better to ask Sarie when her mind was on something else. She might just answer them without thinking about it.

“Let’s ask her while we’re with the ponies,” Aisling whispered quickly.

She nodded and bit into her cheese sandwich. Sarie turned back to the cooker, scooping broiled tomatoes onto a plate, which she deposited on the table.

“So, what mischief have you two hooligans been up to this morning?” Sarie inquired.

“Oh, we were just looking at some of the old books you have in the spare room.” Laurel replied.

Sarie frowned slightly, “Are you being very careful with them?”

“Oh, yes, Sarie,” Aisling answered quickly. “I know how you value those books.”

“Well then, did you find anything interesting?” Sarie asked a little too casually, a slight frown between her brows.

The girls tried hard not to look too guilty.

“Uhmm, not really, yet,” Laurel said. Then with a sudden inspiration, she asked, “Do you know anything about a big lizard that has something to do with St. Michael’s Mount?”

Sarie looked up startled and dropped her spoon into her tea. “Goodness, child, why would you ask such a thing?”

“It’s something I overheard in the bookstore in Marazion the other day. Some tourist asked about it.”

Inside, she was delighted with Sarie’s reaction. Sarie knows something! She risked a quick glance at Aisling while Sarie cleaned up the spilled tea. Aisling eyes gleamed with triumph.

The girls let the subject drop, finished their lunch, and helped Sarie with the cleanup.

Looking out the window at the still lowering weather, Sarie reached for her old canvas hat and coat hanging on the hook by the back door. “It’s certainly blowing a gale,” she remarked. “Let’s go put those ponies in out of it for a while.”

Laurel shrugged into her oilskin, glad the old coat would keep out the Cornish rain as well as it did the Alberta winds, and stuffed her feet into boots. Aisling was suited up as well when Sarie opened the kitchen door. They hurried out into the blustery rain. Sarie secured the door quickly so not too much of the warmth from the kitchen could escape.

Heads down and with their faces full of rain, the trio headed for the pony field. Aisling ran ahead to the stone barn to open the doors to the boxes and make sure there was hay in each manger. Laurel and Sarie slogged through the rain to the gate of the field. The ponies saw them coming and left their shelter to splash through the poached ground toward them. Laurel put her hand out to stroke the wet forelock away from Lamorna’s eyes. The black pony stuck her cold, wet muzzle into her chest and whickered.

Sarie led the way toward the barn. The ponies followed in a line, heads bent against the driving rain, and their tails wet and straggling, stuck to their rumps by the wind. Laurel followed them into the barn, her hand still on Lamorna’s shoulder.

It was strangely quiet in the barn out of the howling storm. The ponies trooped into their own stalls and snuffled about in the oat boxes for grain. Laurel shook the rain from her hat and set it on the dusty windowsill. She picked up Lamorna’s rug from the hook on the wall and took it into the black mare’s stall.

Her heart contracted with homesickness as the smell of wet horse and straw assailed her nostrils. She leaned her head against the wet, black mane for a moment. Lamorna turned her head and lipped her hand. Laurel threw the rug over Lamorna’s back, ducked under her neck to buckle the straps at the chest, before she fitted the roller around the mare’s girth and buckled it snugly.

It had taken a bit to get used to English rugs, all her blankets back home had belly straps that were attached. Laurel went to fetch another rug to put over the first, as steam started to rise from the black pony. Aisling and Sarie were doing the same for the other three ponies. Soon the barn was brimming with the sound of horses eating, the rustle of straw in the boxes, and the lovely smell of horses in a warm barn mingled with the damp smell of wet grass and mud.

Sarie pulled out a bale of straw to sit on; the girls joined her. Sarie stuck a piece of hay in her mouth.

“Tastes all warm and summery,” she said. Her eyes on the ponies’ rumps, which were all they could see of them, as the ponies buried their heads in their mangers.

Aisling met Laurel’s gaze and nodded. Laurel cleared her throat nervously and settled a bit on her bale of straw.

“Uhmm, Sarie?” she began tentatively. “Did you know my Gramma Bella?”

Sarie pulled her gaze from the ponies and looked at Laurel. “Why would you ask that?”

Aisling nodded encouragingly, so she plunged on.

“Well, Ash and me, we kind of found something this morning that made me think you might know her…”

“What exactly did you find?” Sarie’s voice was quiet and hard to hear over the wind and rain that lashed the stone barn.

“We, well I guess it was actually me. There was a picture of you and someone named Arabella. She looked like my Gramma.”

It didn’t seem wise to tell Sarie they had found letters, too.

“Bella and I were friends growing up. She left here when she was twenty.” Sarie’s words were hard and clipped. “It’s how I know your mom and dad.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Your dad didn’t want you to know,” Sarie said.

“But how did they know how to reach you? Gramma Bella has been dead, since I was really young…”

Sarie looked uncomfortable and couldn’t meet Laurel’s eyes. She got up from her bale of straw and went into Arthur’s stall to straighten his rug.

The pieces came together in a rush.

“She’s still alive,” she whispered. “Isn’t she?” Laurel demanded in a stronger voice. “Isn’t she?” She leapt to her feet and shouted at Sarie’s back.

Sarie turned to face her. “Yes, she is. But your parents, well, your dad, don’t want you to know.”

How many times have I asked about Dad’s mom? Both of them lied to me!

“Why?” The words came out strangled. “Tell me. You know!”

Sarie looked sad. “It’s not my story to tell. You must ask your dad, if you want to know that badly.”

“Where does she live, at least tell me that?” Tears were forming in her throat.

“You have to ask your parents,” Sarie refused. “It’s not for me to say.”

Eyes swimming with tears, Laurel pivoted on her toes and banged out of the barn door, running across the yard with the storm demons at her heels. She crashed through the kitchen door, stopped briefly to latch it against the wind, and raced up the narrow stairway into her room. Shedding her oilskin in a heap on the floor, she threw herself on the bed, muddy boots and all. She would be in trouble for the mess later; right now it just didn’t matter.

Laurel hardly remembered her Gramma Bella. She used to live in a little house behind her parents’ house. Her house smelled of lavender and baking and so did she. How old was I when they told me Gramma Bella was gone? It was just after I started school, if I remember right. So, I must have been five or six. She couldn’t remember if her parents actually told her Gramma Bella died, or just that she had gone away. Laurel ground her teeth savagely. She believed Gramma Bella died, and her parents encouraged the belief.

Laurel pounded her fist in her pillow. “Why would they want me to believe that?”

A noise at the door distracted her. She whipped around on her bed ready to blast Sarie with questions. Instead it was Aisling who stuck her head in the door.

“Are you okay?” Aisling asked hesitantly. “I can leave you alone if you like.”

“Where’s Sarie?”

“Still in the barn. She said she needed to think on some things.”

Laurel snorted and swung her legs off the bed. Kicking her sodden oilskin out of the way and stopping to drag off her muddy boots, she headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Aisling asked as she moved out of the way.

“I’m getting those letters and the picture before Sarie hides them on me,” she said over her shoulder as she pushed open the door to the spare room.

“But those letters belong to Sarie.”

“They’re from my Gramma Bella,” Laurel said fiercely as she gathered up the letters and the photo but returned the book to the shelf.

Turning on her heel and marching back into the bedroom, she pried up the loose wall board she had discovered behind her bed and tucked everything safely away. Her fingers itched to open the letters and read them, but it would be safer if she waited ‘til Sarie was either asleep or gone to the village.

Aisling didn’t come back to the room, so Laurel padded back to the spare room to see what she was up to. Aisling was carefully putting all the books back on the shelves. “I’m glad it’s only you. I don’t know what Sarie would say if she saw this mess after what happened in the barn.” Aisling continued to set the books on the shelves.

Laurel dropped to her knees after a moment and helped. Downstairs, they heard the kitchen door open and close, but Sarie did not come up the narrow hall to the foot of the stairway. The girls continued tidying the small room as the light faded into darkness outside. The rain still hit the windowpanes, shiny in the lamp light, but the wind seemed to have dropped from its former ferocity.

Leaning down to retrieve a small book from under the edge of the bed, Laurel read the title so she could put it back in order. Suddenly, she blinked her eyes and took a second look at the book. The title in faded gold letters read, The Dragon Line in Cornwall. Laurel tucked the little book under her shirt and into the waistband of her jeans.

“I think that’s all of them.” She straightened up. “I guess I should go apologize to Sarie for being a brat.”

Aisling grinned at her. “Want me to go to first and see if it’s safe?”

“Let’s just go together,” Laurel suggested. “You know, the united front, even though you didn’t do anything.”

Aisling led the way out the door. Together they traipsed down the dark stairs and into the warm bright kitchen. Sarie was sitting at the table with her hands clasped around a mug of tea. She looked up when they came through the door. Laurel hugged Sarie around the shoulders before Sarie could say anything.

“I know it’s not your fault, Sarie. I’m sorry I took it out on you.”

“I would tell you if I could. I made a vow to Bella many years ago to always keep her secrets, no matter what,” Sarie spoke softly.

“It’s okay, Sarie.”

Laurel grinned at Aisling across the warm lamp-lit room. They would find the answers themselves and end the mystery once and for all, secrets or no.

The sound of the phone ringing ended the conversation. Sarie got up from the table to pick up the receiver. With a smile, Sarie turned and handed the phone to Laurel.

“It’s Coll.”

“Hey, did you have a good time in Church Cove? Did you hear any good stories?” Laurel was careful not to ask about lizards.

“Not lizards, but a dragon. It’s got nothing to do with Church Cove or the Lizard though.” Coll named the two towns where his gramma had taken Gort and him to visit friends of hers.

The small book pinched her ribs. “That may be more useful than you think.”

“Did you find something in the old books?” Coll’s excitement showed in his voice.

“Yeah we did.”

“Is Sarie in the kitchen?” Coll guessed.

“Uhmm-hmmm.”

“Gort and I will come over first thing after breakfast tomorrow. The ponies will need exercise anyway; we can ride and talk. The weather is supposed to break tonight sometime.”

“That sounds great. I’ll make sure it’s okay with Sarie to take the ponies out tomorrow. I’ll see ya then.”

“Ta.”

They spent the rest of the day helping Sarie around the cottage. After supper, they all gathered around the hearth in the kitchen and wound some wool Sarie had just finished dyeing. The repetition of movement left her mind free to wander. Absently, her gaze followed the play of the flames as they devoured the log on the hearth. The wind blew over the chimney from above and made sparks fly up the flue, and the flames flared and flickered.

Laurel thought about the little book that was upstairs under her pillow. Could Vear Du’s lizard really be a dragon? Dragons do kind of look like really huge lizards. She had seen some pictures of Komodo Dragons; they did seem to behave like big aggressive lizards.

She wound the wool faster as some of the pieces of the riddle started to make sense. If the lizard really meant this dragon line that is supposed to rise out of the sea at St. Michael’s Mount, then it makes sense our next step should be to visit St. Michael’s Mount.

Still watching the dance of the flames in the fireplace, Laurel suddenly let out a little gasp. There in the flames, she could see a red and orange lizard creature twinning through the fire. Its bright blue eyes looked directly into her soul before it winked at her and disappeared into the flames as the fire flared sharply. She turned her astonished face to look at Aisling and Sarie. Sarie was concentrating on her winding, but there was a secret kind of smile on her lips.

Aisling was grinning like a loon, her wool sitting idle in her hands. “Did you see him?” she whispered.

“What did you see? Was it like a lizard of some kind?”

Aisling giggled. “It was a salamander.” She hugged herself in excitement. “I don’t see them very often, only once in a while.”

“So it…he was real?”

“As real as you or I are,” Sarie said, joining their conversation.

Both girls stared at her, startled at the matter of fact tone of her voice.

“You can see them, too?” Aisling asked.

“It is my fireplace,” Sarie pointed out dryly. “Do you think they go where they are not welcomed?”

“Oh,” the girls said at the same time.

“The question,” Sarie raised her eyebrows at the girls, “is what have you been doing to garner their attention?” Her eyes rested longest on Laurel.

“I’ve always been able to see them.” Aisling spoke quickly to distract Sarie.

“Why am I not surprised?” Sarie said, without moving her gaze.

Should I tell Sarie about the quest? Quest sounded very adventurous and mysterious, much better than search. But how am I going to explain about the ‘Obby ‘Oss and Vear Du and Gwin Scawen? Laurel thoughts about the old photo of Sarie and Gramma Bella; if Sarie could keep her secrets, she could keep some secrets of her own.

“Darned if I know,” Laurel answered, “it is your fireplace after all. It was way cool though. I’m glad you both saw him, too, or I’d have thought I was seeing things.”

Aisling sighed. “They always make me feel happy and warm inside.”

“How do you know it was a he?”

As far as Laurel could tell it was hard to see any difference, what with the flickering of the fire and the sheer improbability of it all.

“He told me,” Aisling said. “It’s the same one who visits me at home sometimes.”

“How can you tell?” Sarie asked, watching Aisling carefully.

“He gifted me with his name.” Aisling looked straight into Sarie’s eyes.

“What is it?” Laurel asked.

Sarie opened her mouth and then closed it, gazing at Aisling instead.

Aisling smiled slowly. “I can’t tell you. It’s his name, and only he can gift you with it.”

Laurel looked mutinous for a second and then shrugged.

“You mean,” said Sarie softly, “it’s not your secret to tell.”

Aisling nodded; Laurel snorted as she wound her wool.

“It’s not the same thing as not telling me about Gramma Bella,” she muttered mutinously.

Later snuggled in bed, Laurel filled Aisling in on the information Coll relayed earlier. Just as they were quietly settling down to sleep, she sat bolt upright.

“What’s wrong?” Aisling cried softly.

“The salamander showed himself to me just when I finally came to the conclusion the lizard Vear Du talked about was actually a dragon, and we need to go to St. Michael’s Mount! He winked at me just before he disappeared.”

Aisling sat against the headboard and drew her knees up to her chest. The faint light of the stars touched her features as the last of the rain clouds cleared from the night sky.

“I think the salamander was telling you you’re on the right track. They always have reasons to show themselves to those they don’t know,” Aisling spoke thoughtfully.

“Can you ask him? You said he visits you.”

“I know him as well as anyone can know an elemental creature, but they don’t see the world the same as us. Their answers, when they actually give you one, are usually just another riddle to try and unravel.”

“Just wait ‘til we tell the boys what we’ve figured out! Let’s hope their dragon stories keep pointing us in the same direction.”

Aisling slid back down and turned her face to the window where the stars were peeking through the veil of the night. “Let’s hope,” she agreed.

The morning dawned bright and clear. A stout wind blew from the west, but it was reasonably warm. Coll and Gort arrived in time to share the last of the griddlecakes Sarie prepared for breakfast. Soon the four friends were headed out the door to tack up the ponies for their ride.

“Have fun,” Sarie called. “Keep an eye on the weather.”

In a few minutes, the riders trotted out the lane to the track leading west toward Madron. Laurel on Lamorna, Coll on Arthur, Aisling astride Ebony, and Gort with Gareth. The girls quickly related what they found the previous afternoon.

“So, I think our next step is to go to St. Michael’s Mount and see what we can find. I wish this wasn’t taking so long. Mom sounded really sick when I talked to her a couple of days ago. The chemo is really hard on her. She’s losing all her hair,” Laurel’s voice broke on the last words.

Coll moved Arthur up beside her as the track widened out a bit.

“Turns out there is an old legend about a dragon track starting at St. Michael’s Mount and running across Cornwall northeast toward Glastonbury and Avebury. Maybe, you’re right and the lizard is really a dragon,” Coll informed the girls. “Some guy discovered the alignment again in the late ‘60’s and wrote a book about it.”

“We can l-l-look at S-Sarie’s map and see if we can make a line from Mount’s Bay to Glastonbury and see what it crosses on its way,” Gort offered. As always Gort’s stutter got worse the more excited he got.

“Do you think it has anything to do with the King Arthur stories?” Laurel asked. “What’s the name of the book that guy wrote?” Maybe we should try and find it.”

“Maybe,” Aisling sounded doubtful. “Tintagal is quite a bit north and on the coast, not really in any kind of line that would join Mount’s Bay and Glastonbury. The book was called View Over Avalon.”

“That doesn’t sound like it would help much.” Laurel chewed on her bottom lip.

“What about Lanyon Quoit?” Coll interjected. “Gramma tells an old story sometimes about how Arthur was supposed to have used Lanyon Quoit as a table for him and his knights to have dinner on the night before he fought at Lyonnesse, where he killed Mordred and was wounded himself.” Coll thought for a few minutes and then grinned. “I’m just brill I am. Do you know where they took Arthur after he was wounded and dying, from Lyonnesse, I mean?”

They looked expectantly at Coll. Laurel’s heart quickened, at last, finally, this whole riddle thing seemed to be starting to make sense. Maybe, somehow she could find the answer to getting her mom well again. The doctors in Calgary didn’t seem to be having much luck.

“They took him to Avalon,” Coll said triumphantly.

Aisling dropped her reins on Ebony’s neck to clap her hands. “That is brill, Coll, really!”

Gort nodded enthusiastically. “First rate!”

“Where is Avalon? What does it have to do with the dragon line or Arthur?”

“Avalon is at Glastonbury,” Aisling said. “So the dragon line that starts at Mount’s Bay on St. Michaels Mount runs straight to Avalon-Glastonbury. Glastonbury comes from the old name Ynis Witrin or Isle of Glass, hence Glas-ton-bury.”

“I think we should try and find that book you mentioned in the book store on Market Jew Street in Penzance. It mentions Avalon too,” Laurel insisted.

“The lady at The Edge of the World Bookshop might carry it,” Aisling agreed.

“Maybe there is a clue at Lanyon Quoit,” Gort said. “Sarie asked me what I want to do for my birthday next week. I’m gonna suggest we go for cream tea at the Lanyon Tea Room.”

“My Gramma always says this is Arthur’s country,” Coll said. “With any luck, we should find something at Lanyon.”

The ponies jigged a little, tossing their heads impatiently. Their actions plainly saying they had been walking way too long. In a few moments, all four were cantering into the wind across the moor. Laurel flung her head back and laughed; it was so great to be riding. The feel of the pony under her was so familiar; she urged Lamorna into a gallop and drew ahead of her companions.

Before too long, the group was trotting past Chyndour, headed roughly toward Heamoor. They stopped at a flat grassy spot at the top of a rise. Aisling and Gort dismounted and pulled the lunch they packed out of the saddlebags. Coll took Ebony, Arthur, and Gareth to find some water at the little rill that ran sparkling at the foot of the rise.

Laurel sat on Lamorna and gazed across the moor as it ran toward the sea. It was so much like her beloved Alberta prairie, except the prairie ran to the mountains. Like the sea, the mountains had a power and life of their own; they were, after all, the bones of the earth. The pony lowered her nose to the grass and took advantage of her rider’s preoccupation with the country before her. This is Arthur’s land, she remembered Sarie telling her, echoing what Coll said earlier in the day, but it belonged to itself long before Arthur was born.

Laurel liked the idea of that. The country stretching before her seemed to shimmer with a life force which had nothing to do with what humans did, or did not, do to it. She tugged gently on the reins and pulled the pony’s head out of the grass. The wind coming across the moor from the sea carried music with it. It wasn’t a familiar music, but she seemed to follow the notes all the same. It was a mixture of old cowboy songs sung around the campfire to keep the night at bay. It carried the shiver of mystery from the ancient stone works dotting the Cornish peninsula. There was fiddle and harp and drum and guitar and harmonica. The music called up bird song, the voice of the sea, and the bass voice of the rock itself that held up the land. She could hear the reverberating sound of the bells in the lost land of Lyonnesse out past Land’s End. She could hear words that were somehow inside her head and also part of the wind. The sound vibrated through the pony’s hooves and into Laurel.

 

“The land lies dreaming under the sun,

So much different it is,

So much the same it is.

All things are one when the day is won.”

 

“Come and get some grub!” Coll’s voice broke through her reverie.

Laurel slid down from Lamorna’s broad back and led her over to the other ponies. She removed Lamorna’s bridle, slipped on her head collar and left her with the other ponies to graze. She dropped down onto the grassy turf and took a ham sandwich from the pile Aisling set out. Everyone was silent while they devoured the sandwiches and cookies, which they washed down with sweet tea.

Once they were full, Laurel pulled the little book about the dragon line out of the waistband of her jeans. She handed it to Coll, who looked at it in surprise.

“Where did you find this?”

“Ash and I found it yesterday on Sarie’s book shelf. I read it last night, and I think it confirms what you said about the dragon line cutting across Cornwall. See what you think.”

Coll skimmed through the pages and whistled softly between his teeth. He handed the book to Gort who took it eagerly.

“It does seem to agree with what we found out yesterday,” Gort said.

“I think so, too,” Coll said.

The group was silent for a time; each following their own line of thinking with regard to the book and the dragon line.

Finally, Coll got to his feet and stretched. “We should get a move on if we want to be back before dark.” He moved over to the ponies to bridle Arthur.

The girls collected the bits of litter and the remains of their lunch, stuffing them back into the saddlebags. In just a few minutes, they were all headed down the track back toward home. The sun was warm on Laurel’s back making her sleepy.

“Let’s trot!” She set off at a brisk pace with the wind at her back. The others followed suit, and soon Laurel forgot about riddles and her mom being sick. She soaked in the feel of Lamorna underneath her and the sound of all the ponies’ hooves drumming the soft earth. The wind lifted her hair and tossed it forward over her face. The ponies’ tails and manes were black streamers ribboning in the shifting currents.

Laurel laughed in exhilaration. All the ponies quickened their pace until they were cantering down the track two abreast. In no time at all, they were at Sarie’s gate and turning down her lane. Sarie came out of the cottage to meet them as they trooped past the kitchen.

“I was starting to worry you wouldn’t get home before full dark,” Sarie said as she opened the gate to the pony field for them.

Laurel glanced at the dusky sky. “We went a little further than we planned.”

“No harm done,” Sarie assured her. “The ponies look like they enjoyed themselves as well.”

Once the ponies were un-tacked, rubbed down, fed, and turned out for the night, the four friends headed for the bright warmth of Sarie’s kitchen. Sarie had a large tea waiting for them as they came through the door.

“Once you’ve eaten, I can run Gort and Coll home. I told Emily I would drop by this evening so we can plan our trip to Glastonbury at Alban Heruin,” Sarie said.

Laurel frowned at the strange name. “What’s Alban whatever you said?”

“It just means Summer Solstice, it’s the Celtic name for it,” Sarie replied.

Coll grinned at Laurel across the table. Now all they had to do was convince Sarie and Emily they needed to go along as well.

“Sarie, I’m staying at Coll’s for tonight. My uncle’s gone to the Arms for the afternoon, and I’d just as soon steer clear of him for the night.” Gort looked imploringly at Sarie.

Sarie rested her hand on Gort’s shoulder. “I’m sure it will be all right with Emily, Gort. You know one of us will always take you in if you need it.”

“Ta, Sarie,” Gort sighed. “I just hate to ask. You know how Uncle Daniel gets when he thinks I’m telling the whole town he can’t take care of me.”

“It would be nice if he acted like he wanted to take responsibility for you once in a while,” Sarie said acerbically.

The girls pleaded tiredness, staying home while Sarie and the boys headed off to Penzance. They had plans to meet at school the next day to strategize about Lanyon Quoit and Sarie and Emily’s trip to Glastonbury.

Laurel was so tired she totally forgot about the letters hidden behind her headboard.

 

 

* * *

School proved beastly all week, leaving little time for anything other than studying, and it wasn’t until the following Friday night she remembered the letters.

Sarie was over at Emily’s for the evening, and Laurel was snuggled by the hearth, studying her math, three cats curled around her. The fire flickered, and she shook her head to clear her eyes. She looked up at the fire to determine if she needed to add some turf. She blinked and looked closer at the flames. There, curled around the log, was the fiery salamander, his blue eyes urging her to look at him. Laurel put her books down on the floor and knelt at the edge of the hearth as close as she could get to the fire.

“Hey there,” she said softly. “I’m glad you came back.”

The little salamander writhed with delight and wound himself around the flames. Then he sat up on his haunches and folded his little forelegs across his chest. He reminded her of the gophers back home with his solemn face above his crossed paws. The salamander’s blue eyes locked on Laurel’s with an intensity that startled her.

“I have answers for your riddle.” The salamander’s voice was high and breathy in her mind.

“Can you tell me whom I need to ask to make my mom better?” She spoke softly in case she scared the creature.

“I can tell you this: The answer lies in the stoned hole, close by the literate stone.”

Laurel shook her head and sat back on her heels while she held his gaze.

“Can’t you be clearer?” she asked. “I’m running out of time, and my mom is getting sicker.”

The salamander cocked his head to one side and regarded her thoughtfully, and she hoped sympathetically. What is it with this stuff? Everything is a riddle, and nobody can, or will tell me outright what I need to know. The salamander spied Laurel’s math books on the rug, and he grinned in satisfaction. It was hard to tell, what with his thin lizardly little lips.

“You must solve the problem which follows.” His voice was earnest in her head.

“One plus none plus one, write it down, one plus none plus one. When you find the answer, you must follow it through nine times.”

Grabbing her notebook and pen, she scribbled down the ridiculous, annoying riddle.

“That’s all you can tell me?” Laurel said rather brusquely.

The salamander reacted instantly to the tone in her voice and vanished into the ashes with a flick of his tail.

“Rats, rats, rats! I’m sorry, little guy,” Laurel spoke uncertainly into the flames in the hearth. Where did he go when he disappeared, up the chimney, or into another plane of existence? “Really, I’m sorry. Please come back so I can thank you properly,” she wheedled.

The peat flared in the fire, and two blue eyes regarded her out of the flames. The salamander balanced on top of the log and bobbed his head.

“Thank you for the information,” Laurel said very formally. “Thank you for coming back. I’m sorry I was rude.”

“You are forgiven, Daughter of Eve.” The salamander’s voice was more formal as well. “You are young yet. Learn patience and to see what is right in front of your nose.” He paused. “You may call me Belerion.”

The fire popped again. When the flames settled down once more, the salamander was gone... What the heck was a stoned hole? Is it a real stone, or is it something to do with some drug-induced hallucination you need to be stoned to see? And a literate stone, can the stone talk?

Laurel decided she would leave the talking stone part until Coll, Aisling, and Gort were there to help her. On Sunday, they were going to Lanyon Tea Room for Gort’s birthday tea. There should be plenty of time to figure out what the salamander was trying to tell her.

“One plus none plus one,” she muttered trying to reason it out. Finally, she rang Aisling.

“Two heads are better than one,” Aisling agreed, once Laurel explained why she called.

“If you add them up, they come to two. Does that mean anything to you?” Aisling asked.

“What about eleven?” Laurel fiddled with different combinations of the numbers on her page.

“For something that’s supposed to be plain and simple…” Aisling’s voice trailed off.

“I read in the little book about the dragon line there are actually two lines. They call them the Michael and Mary lines, and they both kind of twine around each other. The Mary line seems to touch water and wells. The Michael line is the one with all the St. Michael’s churches built along it. Maybe that’s what the two means?”

“Maybe so,” Aisling mulled the thought over. “But how does that tell us what to do. We already know the dragon line goes from Mount’s Bay to Glastonbury and beyond.”

“What about one hundred and one? That could be a date, like October first,” Aisling continued.

“October will be way too late for Mom! It can’t mean it will take us ‘til October to figure this out.”

“Let’s try and get to St. Michael’s Mount tomorrow. When is the best time to go?”

“If we go at low tide, we can walk out on the causeway. Otherwise, we’ll have to wait to take the little boats that go out at high tide,” Aisling answered.

“When is low tide?” Laurel still had no idea how to figure out when low and high tide occurred.

“Wait ‘til I check Dad’s tide chart to be sure.” After a few minutes, Aisling came back on the line. “We should be able to walk out around eleven in the morning, when the slack tide is.”

“Do you want to come here, or should I meet you guys in Marazion in front of the Godolphin Arms?”

“I’ll have to ring you in the morning. I think Emily will give us a lift to the Godolphin Arms. We can wait for you out front,” Aisling said.

“Okay, I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

After she rang off, Laurel gathered her school books, smoored the fire like Sarie taught her, and headed up the stairs to her bed. As she dumped her books on the chair by the door, she remembered the letters hidden behind the headboard.

Suddenly not quite so tired, Laurel pried the loose board out and retrieved the old letters along with the photo of Sarie and Gramma Bella. She spread the letters on the quilt. There seemed to be quite a few of them. Judging by the dates, they encompassed a long period of time. The last one was dated in 2008. Laurel’s heart quickened as she picked up the paper; her hand shook, making the letter quiver in her grip. Quickly, Laurel looked for a return address. There it was.

“Bragg Creek, Gramma Bella lives in Bragg Creek! Or at least she did last year.”

Laurel couldn’t believe it. Bragg Creek was not far from where she lived. It was a pretty little village with a mixture of high-income residents who worked in Calgary and a vibrant artistic community. Just before she left for Cornwall, Chance and Carlene and their parents took her to Elbow Falls in Kananaskis Country. On the way home, they stopped in Bragg Creek for ice cream.

“As soon as I get home, I’m going to go look for Gramma Bella.”

Carefully, Laurel tucked the letter with the vital address into her backpack. She could read that letter later. She selected the letter with the earliest date and settled down on the bed near the lamp to read. She hadn’t read more than Dear Sarie, when the kitchen door banged and Sarie herself called up the stairs to say she was wetting the tea.

Laurel gathered the letters and stored them in her knapsack to take with her tomorrow. Aisling would enjoy reading them.

“I’ll be right down. There’s still some treacle pudding left from supper.”