Lindisfarne Priory, Holy Island, Berwick-upon-Tweed
Halvdan Landvik stared for a moment through the rain-spattered windshield, the ruins of Lindisfarne Priory standing ahead of them like broken teeth beyond the neater edifice of St Mary’s church. They were parked on a green verge, just past the last houses of gray-brown stone with slate or red tile roofs. To their right, the grassy slope fell away in a shallow decline to the water. To their left, the church, cemetery, and priory ruins.
“What is it about this place?” Landvik asked Rose without turning around. He knew she would answer. No doubt with some smart-mouthed quip.
“You tell me,” she said. “You’re the one who dug through my brain.”
Landvik pursed his lips. No more or less than expected. He would almost certainly have to do the ritual again, but he had nearly lost her the last time. Her experience of Aella’s pain had been something quite astounding to behold, though she seemed to not have a strong memory of those events now. Probably for the best if she was to retain her sanity. Perhaps if he gathered some more information, a few more points of relevance with which to conduct the interrogation, then maybe next time it would reveal more. There was nothing scientific about this occult methodology and that bothered him, but he had to play the hand he had been dealt. At least he had the girl now. If the next ritual killed her, well, so be it. He had no other choices at this stage.
He twisted in the seat to address the large man wedged in to Rose’s right. “Grigor, you stay here with her. She doesn’t leave the vehicle. We won’t be long.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You two with me.” Landvik opened the door and climbed out, knowing his men would follow. The crowd of tourists had thinned somewhat, now they had the chance to spread out across the island, but there were still knots of people in every direction. He headed up the road, tailed by the sound of gravel crunching beneath the shoes of his men as they followed.
A low stone wall, rough-topped with patches of moss, surrounded the ruins and the larger church that stood before them. They entered through a narrow wooden gate. Just to their right Saint Mary’s Parish Church filled the view, large sandstone blocks with three tall arched stained-glass windows, the tallest in the center framed by thick stone columns. Atop those columns was a bell tower, the silhouette of the bell itself stark against the pale gray skies. But, Landvik noticed, the pale gray was growing slightly darker. The soft drizzle that gusted through the air had begun to take on a heavier feel, as though it might at any minute turn into a downpour. No matter, he thought. That would match his mood. A cemetery surrounded the church and he gestured to the nearest of his men. “Search the graveyard.”
The man frowned. “What am I looking for?”
Landvik shrugged. “Anything, I don’t know. Runes, carvings of hammers, anything that might hint at something other than the obvious Christian history here. Just look.”
“Yes, sir.” The man moved away and Landvik led the other along a bitumen path between graves, heading for the old priory behind the church. At the end of the church they turned right and walked another path until they came to the front of the ruins. At their backs rose the end of St. Mary’s church, another tall, narrow stained glass window buried in the pale, irregular stonework. Before them was the entrance to the old priory, an arched doorway with rounded columns to either side. One square tower rose almost complete on their right side, but on the other it had all gone, leaving a ragged edge of reddish-gray stone. Beyond, high above the ground, curved the famous rainbow arch, a smooth, shallow arc of stones connecting two narrow, crumbling towers. The underside of the arch was carved with roundels, giving it the look of a strange row of too many teeth, upside down.
Landvik entered and began to stalk around, paying close attention to the walls and stones, trying to see something that might give some credence to their coming here. Some reason beyond the unreliable memories he had extracted from Rose Black. The broken down walls showed many places where double rows of stone left spaces in between, the kind of spot where any number of treasures might have once been concealed. Large archwork with thick brickwork columns, carved with worn chevrons for decoration, cast strange shadows in the wan, watery day. Landvik glanced up and winced as the rain began to increase as he thought it might. Several tourists with them in the space hurried away, presumably seeking the shelter of their cars or buildings in town. He would be glad to be left alone.
Landvik grew more and more impatient with every minute of the search. As he inspected the crumbled walls, it became apparent that anything concealed here was likely found and removed long ago. There were precious few places that something might still be hidden, save for within the remaining stonework. He could hardly start pulling bricks free and kicking the ruins to pieces, though as his impatience grew, the desire to do just that increased exponentially. Perhaps the hammer, if it were here, had long since been recovered and carried away. He paused, looked out beyond the ruins. Was he even in the right place? It seemed most likely, the seat of the island’s Christianity, first abandoned after a Viking raid in 793. The timing was right. But even if it were, did the hammer itself maybe lie elsewhere? Rose Black had identified Lindisfarne, she had muttered something about the Christian stronghold, so that had to mean this priory. But there were an awful lot of years between her memories and the present day. Things could be moved around all over the place, yet still remain on the Holy Island. Not to mention the possibility that Aella’s knowledge of the place, or his recollections, could have been wrong. The impotence of the searching began to infuriate him. Fear of failure rising, Landvik quickened his pace. If they exhausted every possibility, they would perhaps have to expand their search further. And he had to at least find something with which to target the next ritual with Rose Black. Something to trigger a usable memory.