2018
It is just after six-thirty in the evening as Quinn approaches the trees on the land beyond the terraces, Dmitri by her side. The sun is beginning to lose its bite and a light breeze tickles her neck. Through the thick trunks of the pine trees, she can see one of the monastery walls. She hasn’t set foot inside the place since Eva’s death, but both she and Sofia must face the past if this cleansing ritual is going to work.
After Quinn had her revelation this morning, she approached Sofia and invited her to take part in a shamanic ritual in the monastery to exorcise the trauma of Eva’s death. She expected Sofia to refuse, at least initially, but to her surprise Sofia accepted straight away. Quinn suggested they conduct the ritual tomorrow, but Sofia insisted they do it this evening, before she could change her mind.
Quinn thinks of the others waiting for her back at the house. Zoe and Carl wished her good luck, but Quinn wasn’t sure they meant it. Joe and Holly were sceptical of the plan and thought Sofia shouldn’t return to the monastery. Mel took her aside and spoke to her earnestly in a low voice.
‘You don’t need to do this,’ Mel said.
‘I want to,’ Quinn said. ‘How’s your grandmother doing?’
Mel stared at her blankly. ‘My grandmother?’
‘Rose. Is she still in hospital?’
‘She’s… she’s fine. We need to focus, Quinn. I think I’ve found us a way out of this situation.’
‘Spirit has shown me the path I must follow.’
Mel gripped her arm. ‘You need to trust me.’
‘And you need to trust me.’
Mel offered to accompany her to the monastery, but Quinn refused. Sofia wants it to be just the two of them, and Quinn must respect her wishes. Not even Aphrodite has been allowed to follow her down.
She has come prepared. The large Turkish carpet bag slung over her shoulder contains her Tibetan singing bowls and a flask of cacao. She is wearing her best orange dress and her ceremonial jewellery. The orange Crocs too, although she resents their rubbery presence.
The trees are close now. She swallows, her mouth suddenly dry. Dmitri turns to her.
‘You are okay?’ he says.
‘Of course,’ she replies.
When they enter the trees, the skin on the back of Quinn’s neck prickles. Dappled emerald light surrounds her. They weave between the pines and cedars until Quinn sees the monastery ahead of them.
At the edge of the trees, Sofia sits on a blue and white picnic blanket. A gold belt cinches in the white maxi dress that covers her slender body. Her hair gleams. Her skin glows. ‘Come,’ she says. ‘Join me.’
Her voice is soft and welcoming. No sign of the conflict between them. Dmitri hangs back in the trees as Quinn sits on the blanket opposite Sofia.
‘Thank you for suggesting this,’ Sofia says.
Quinn forces herself to look at the monastery. The small, single-storey building is more decrepit than she remembers. Bricks are missing in the white walls and the wooden roof has holes in it. Set above the wooden door is an arched recess containing a faded fresco of a robed figure with a halo. A saint, Quinn has always presumed although she has no idea which one. ‘Shall we go inside?’
‘Let’s sit first.’ Sofia has a small, stainless-steel cup in her hands. ‘I’m having some mountain tea. Will you join me?’
Quinn thinks of the cacao in her flask. It took her a long time to prepare and is a vital part of the ritual. ‘I’d love some tea,’ she says, wanting to reward Sofia for contributing to the ceremony. After all, she is only here to be the guide for whatever transformation Sofia is ready for.
Sofia pours tea from a large thermos into a cup identical to her own.
‘Thank you,’ Quinn says when Sofia hands her the tea. It’s delicious. She drains the cup and gratefully accepts Sofia’s offer of another, ignoring the hunger pangs gripping her stomach. She hasn’t eaten all day, hoping a fast will bring clarity to the evening’s proceedings.
‘What’s in your bag?’ Sofia asks.
‘My singing bowls.’ Quinn explains she thought their sound could cleanse the monastery and release any negative energy trapped in the building.
‘Could you play before we go in?’ Sofia says. ‘I’d find that very relaxing.’
‘Of course. That’s a lovely idea.’ Quinn puts her empty cup aside, unzips her bag and arranges the five singing bowls in front of her, smallest on the left, largest on the right. She picks up her wooden wand with its black suede tip, closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths. A luscious calm spreads through her. She opens her eyes to see Sofia staring at her with a soft, curious expression.
Quinn taps the wand against the side of each bowl, bringing them to life until their warm, pure notes vibrate in the early evening air. As one ringing sound fades, she revives it again until the wand is gliding between all the bowls, their varying notes melting into a harmonious melody that travels through Quinn’s hand into the rest of her body. Sofia has a rapturous smile on her face. This reception prompts Quinn to keep going and she is soon lost within the music.
She has no idea how much time has passed when the final note from the deepest bowl fades away. The sound bath seems to have put her into a trance. When she lays down the wand, she turns her hands over and examines the violet ring road of veins on the inside of her wrists. She can almost hear the blood trickling through them. She glances back towards the woods and sees Dmitri leaning against the trunk of a majestic pine, like a wood nymph in a waistcoat. Beyond him, the emerald-green light falling through the canopy shimmers. The trees whisper to one another and Quinn feels privileged to overhear their conversations.
‘You were playing for nearly half an hour,’ Sofia says.
‘Really?’ Quinn smiles. She surprises herself with her own powers sometimes.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Good.’ Extremely good. That sound healing must have been just what she needed. A soft blanket of peace wraps itself around her. ‘Are you ready?’ she asks Sofia.
Sofia’s eyes flick towards the monastery. ‘I think so.’ She uncrosses her long legs and stands up, smoothing down the folds of her dress. ‘No,’ she says when Dmitri moves towards them. ‘Wait outside.’
Quinn’s knees crack when she stands. Loud as gunshots. She puts out a hand and her heart contracts when Sofia takes it, compliant as a child. ‘Let’s do this,’ she says.