W
ithout thinking of collecting her possessions, Ankerita clawed at the front door. It was deadlocked. She tried the windows—security locks were holding those shut, too. She went to the garden door; again, it was fixed. She dashed into the garage. At least the car was still there. It was unlocked, but the keys were gone. She struggled to open the garage door, but it was on a motor and needed the control-box. She became hysterical, and all logic failed her. She ran to her room, locked the door, and hid under the duvet, praying for supernatural help.
Sometime later, Ankerita heard the front door opening. “This is it,” she thought. “There is nobody left to save me. As soon as he sees the cellar door, I’m lost.”
She held her breath as footsteps passed her room. A few minutes later, they returned. “Anna?” George’s voice came through the door. “Dinner smells great?”
“You evil pervert,” Ankerita challenged. “I’ve seen your torture chamber in the cellar. How many other poor girls have you murdered?”
There was a pause, and then a laugh from outside. “Puir wee bunny. Have you been down to the gym? I wondered why the door was broken. Is that why you’re hiding? I’m not cross; these things happen. I can fix it.”
“What do you mean? There’s a torture chamber down there, underground.”
George laughed again. “Silly lass. I can see how you might get confused. Some say that there is little difference. Those aren’t machines of torture, but machines of exercise. When the owners are staying, they like to keep themselves fit. I’ve used the apparatus myself on occasion. Come out and I’ll show you after dinner.”
Ankerita was beginning to feel very foolish. “You wouldn’t be lying to me would you?”
“What’s the point, lassie? If I’d meant you any harm, it would have happened by now; last night when you were drunk, for example.”
“Ah, yes.” She laughed, self-consciously.
“Are you coming down for dinner? It smells gorgeous.”
Ankerita nervously unlocked the door. Outside, George wore a wide grin.
“Sorry,” she faltered, “I’ve had so many bad experiences. Even when people are being nice, I can’t trust them.”
George took her hand. “Look, little one,” he said. “I haven’t told you this, but when I was young, me and Eileen had a baby girl. We got married to bring her up. She was dark-haired and beautiful like you. Killed by a drunk driver when she was twelve.”
Ankerita stared at him. She could feel his pain. “I’m so sorry.” She squeezed his hand.
“We’ve got three other fine bairns,” said George, “but she was special, being the first an’ all. She would be your age, if she was alive. I wonder if you are her, reborn. I would never harm you. You are a daughter to me.”
“What was her name?” asked Ankerita, sadly, already guessing the answer.
“You know,” said George, with a tremor in his voice. “I still miss my little Anna.”
“Come on.” Ankerita tried to lighten the conversation, and grabbed his sleeve. “I’ve got a lovely dinner for you... if it’s not burnt because of my stupidity,” she added. “Getafyabassa,” she mocked his accent again, “and have a shower. You stink like the clunge of Hell. Dinner will be on the table when you are clean enough to enter my kitchen.”
George smiled sadly. “You’re a good girlie,” he said.
“A tribute to my parents,” she observed, kindly.
After dinner, George took Ankerita around the gym. He showed her each of the machines, and how to use it, and how to operate the big screen to bring up the TV music channels to pass the time. She had a go on each one, and agreed with him that they probably were machines of torture, although hopefully without any permanent damage.
As George followed Ankerita back up to the kitchen, he said, “I nearly forgot. I thought to bring this along.”
“You got me a present?”
“I guess so.” He tried to shut the broken cellar door. “Have a look in my poke.”
Ankerita gingerly opened George’s sports bag. Inside, there was something small and solid, wrapped in an old rugby shirt. She gasped as she removed the cloth. “Beautiful,” she said, taking out a sphere of glass.
“That’s the wee ball that I used to track you down, the one that your Jeanette pointed me at. I’ve made you a base for it. That’s in there too.”
“You said you lost it.”
“I thought I had. I forgot about it after I used it to track you down to the docks, but when I got back to the shop, it was there, in the display case again. I could have sworn I took it with me.”
“Strange, but then it is enchanted, from what you say, so I can believe that.” Ankerita found the block of wood in the bag. “This is lovely, thank you.” She placed it on the table and set the ball on it. “Perfect.” She put her arms around him. “You smell so much better in clean clothes,” she said. “Will you shower every day?”
“I could, but the punters might smell that I’m clean. It would affect my night-time income.”
“Try staying downwind.” Ankerita laughed, “or keep your old things for going out in.”
“I might, I suppose, but I’m starting to detest the smell. You always keep clean, don’t you?”
“I had no opportunity in the anchorhold. You kind of get used to the smell, but I love this aspect of the modern world, being dirt-free for the first time in five-hundred years, being able to slide my fingers through my hair...”
“There you go again,” said George, “Are you in truth from ancient times?”
“Aye, a am,” mocked Ankerita.
“Doesn’t make sense. It could be some sort of past life regression, I suppose.”
“What’s that?”
“No idea,” said the man. “I read the headline in the newspaper, but the rest of the story was too boring. What are you going to do with the crystal-ball? It is a crystal-ball?”
“It’s a wonderful present.” She gazed into the depths of the glass. “A perfect gift.”
Ankerita waited until George had departed for his night work. The games room seemed the ideal place to try out the crystal. The card table had a velvet cloth that seemed made to set it on, and there were comfortable chairs to relax in. Scrying, as it was known, had to be performed without distractions. The lighting over the table was adjustable, so Ankerita cranked it down until the room was barely lit. On one of the other card chairs, she set the Book of Ghosts, open at a page depicting a crystal-ball, with unintelligible writing around it, in the hope that some inspiration would come. She took a breath and gazed into the glass.
To begin with, all she could see was the glow of the lights, mirrored in reflective surfaces around the room. “I do proclaim this is a tickle-brained hedge-pig of a conundrum,” she muttered. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
“You could talk to me, if you like.”
“What?” Ankerita leapt up. Her chair crashed backwards and the table rocked. There was nobody in the room with her. The voice seemed to have come from inside her head. She dashed to the door and checked the hall outside, again wondering if she was not alone in the house.
After a few minutes of silence, disturbed only by the beating of her heart, Ankerita stopped trembling. She listened intently. The building was silent. Outside, in the street, there was the faint sound of people shouting. Nervously, she checked all around the house again, her kitchen-knife at the ready. Apart from the usual shock she gave herself, when she caught her image in the upstairs landing mirror, there was nothing stirring. She poured herself a glass of wine and sipped it thoughtfully as she returned to the games room.
The ball sat where she’d left it. “Hello?” she called tentatively. It was a woman’s voice she had heard; perhaps there was nothing to fear. There was no answer. She righted her chair and gazed into the crystal again.
The reflections had disappeared. The glass seemed to contain a thick fog. Meditation was something that Ankerita was well practised in, from her long days in the anchorhold, so she slipped easily into the technique for emptying her mind, to listen for words from the other worlds that were there for all to hear, if they chose to. She tried to gaze deeper into the glass, and slowly became aware that she was looking at a woman’s face. For a moment she thought it was her own reflection, but then the eyes snapped open. The face regarded her for a moment, almost thoughtfully.
“Hello?” Ankerita faltered.
“Hello. Is that all you can say? I’ve waited up five centuries for you, you know. Where have you been ‘til now?”
“Hang on,” protested Ankerita. “If you’re in my imagination, how can you have a go at me?”
“I’m not in your imagination, you dizzy-eyed flirt-gill, I’m talking to you from across the ages. I’m here to remind you that it’s about time you put your talents to good use.”
As Ankerita concentrated on the image, she could see green eyes, red hair and a rather drawn face. Old memories triggered. “Genet, the witch...?”
“I’m not a bloody witch. How many more times must I tell people? I’m an enchantress, a wise woman, a spellbinder. Look at my face. Can you see any warts? Can you see a broomstick? Can you see pendulous dugs hanging down to my knees? I’m not a bloody witch, do you hear?”
“Okay, okay.” Ankerita sat back. “Shall I simply call you Genet, and we can forget about the job description?”
“If you want.” The apparition sniffed. “Now, as I was saying, it’s about time you contacted me.”
“And why would that be?”
“You dozy addle-pate. You have found yourself five-hundred years in your future, and are being hounded by some of the most dangerous people, without support from the Spirit World or otherwise. I’m sure you’re perfectly fine. Why would you need help?”
“I’ve got George. Was it you who spoke to him to save me from the thugs? Thank you for that.”
“I managed to get through to him, eventually,” said Genet. “It was hard toil, I can tell you. Despite him working right next to the ball, he refused to listen to me at first. Petty normals; their minds are closed, you see. They don’t accept what’s right in front of them. Too busy with the day to day...”
Ankerita tried not to take her eyes off the image.
“I waited until he took a sneaky nap in the storeroom,” continued Genet. “I managed to get him to put his hand on the crystal, and then I could tell him about the danger you were in. He listened, thank Baal-Peor, and was able to come after you.”
“And you did this for me?” Ankerita was incredulous. “Didn’t I hear that you were responsible for my predicament in the first place?”
“There was an unpreganant mix-up,” snorted the witch. “You can’t trust those clay-brained vassals of the abbey to do anything right. All I could do was make sure the spell stayed in place until someone released me. It had to happen.”
“Eventually,” agreed Ankerita, wistfully. “And has someone released you, at last?”
“Would I be talking to you from inside this ball if I was?”
“I suppose not.”
“You suppose right,” said Genet. “Stupid, stupid monk; he goes and kills himself, instead of taking care of the items I entrusted to him. I did my best, and made him pass the artefacts on. I made sure the book had a protecting spell. It can’t be destroyed. I believe it has come to you?”
“It has. But I can’t see much sense.”
“You will need my help, and that’s why I’m here.”
“But you must have died half a millennium ago...”
“Was murdered, by that fool of a sheep fu... farmer. But then again, you can’t slay a real witch...”
“I thought you said you were an enchantress.”
“Yeah, sorry.” Genet looked uncomfortable. “Of course I am. Same thing though.”
“What about those witch-trials I’ve heard about. There were a lot of women murdered.”
Genet gave a mirthless laugh. “They weren’t witches, silly wench. Do you think real witches would let themselves get caught? And if they did, do you think they’d wait around to be crisped up by the executioners...?”
“But...”
“Of course not. Much too canny. If a witch lives out her normal span, she moves on to the Other World, or if she chooses, can be reborn into this one. It is only when we meet violent death that we get stuck in the in-between, waiting to ensure that we are avenged. And that’s me, here and now.”
“So, you seek revenge?” Ankerita was wondering where the conversation was going. “Is that why you’re still here?”
“It’s a bit late; the varlot who killed me is hopefully roasting in Hell. I cannot get to him. No, I want to live out the rest of my life in your world, and all-powerful as I am, I’m going to have to resort to asking you to help me.”
“And what do I get out of it?” Ankerita tried to maintain the vision, and think at the same time.
“I’ll teach you how to read the Book, get the footpads off your tail and give you a reason or two to live... oh, and try to help you save the life of your best friend, what was her name, Joanna?”
Ankerita grabbed the glass with both hands. “I just knew Jo was in danger...”
“Yes, she is, like.” Genet mocked Jo’s speech habit. “It’s up to you to, like, save her, if you want.”
“Of course I will. What needs to be done?”
“You’ll have to find that out. It’s not urgent... yet. I’ll help if you do some things for me first.”
“Okay.” Ankerita sighed. “I’ll help you. We have a covenant. What do you want me to do?”
“Find this place.” Genet’s face faded and was replaced by an empty field with a few mounds in it. “These are the remains of my village. There are artefacts I need you to collect, connected to the Thirteen Treasures you are seeking...”
“What do you know?”
“You have recovered the Chariot of Morgan Mwynfawr...”
“I knew it was! Not just an old car.”
“It is, but you need the others, if you are going to help your friend... and me. The Book holds the information.”
“Then it all hinges on this?” Ankerita dared not take her eyes off the crystal to regard the tome.
“If not, what would be the point of your rebirth?”
“So, I’ve got the Chariot, but what about the others?”
“The clues are there, if you can read it.”
“Which I can’t, so how am I supposed to find this place, and them? How come nobody has discovered them yet? After all, there’s little enough left of this country that hasn’t been dug up by archaeologists or property developers.”
“No idea and no idea and no idea,” said Genet. “I’m an enchantress, not a bloody seer. I need you to find out.”
Ankerita felt a tickling sensation in her head.
“I’ve opened your memory of when you lived near there,” said Genet. “You will see my village in your mind, and know where to go. If you need any extra help, use the crystal. I will guide you.”
“And what am I supposed to be looking for?” There was no answer. The ball was clear again.