The Secret Path by Karen Swan (summer beach reads TXT) 📕

branches, feeling them scratch and claw her as she ran too close, too fast—

He had stopped in a clearing, a rainbow winking in the sunlight even as the rain continued to pour.

‘. . . What . . .?’ she faltered, taking in the sight. She had never seen anything like it. She reached an arm out and walked over to the rock in front of her. It was vast – as high as she was tall but at least two metres in diameter and perfectly, completely spherical. Her hand brushed over its smooth surface in awe. How on earth had something so huge and precision-sculpted come to be here, in the very middle of the jungle?

And not just one of them, but . . . she counted them . . . twelve in all. They were of varying sizes but their symmetry was perfect. There was no way the vehicles needed to transport boulders of these sizes – fourteen, fifteen tons, surely – could get through these trees; and they were days away from anywhere. There were no roads for miles.

She walked into the middle and turned slowly on the spot. The gap in the trees allowed the sun to break through, beaming onto the grass with dazzling intensity even as the rain poured. ‘What is this?’ she whispered.

‘Our most sacred spot. Our church, you would say.’

She looked back at it. There was indeed a spiritual presence here; she couldn’t describe it exactly but the space felt full somehow, as if loaded. The air seemed to sparkle, the rocks to bask. She expected to see fairies flitting with butterflies, fawns nosing the grass.

‘We believe they are over two thousand years old.’

Tara’s eyebrow arched. ‘That’s pretty . . . pretty old,’ she murmured. She kept wanting to touch them. ‘Is it okay that I . . .?’ she asked, holding her arm out.

He nodded, watching her as she walked slowly around the circle, touching each sphere in turn. They all felt different. Some felt older and more ‘scarred’ or marked than others.

‘They are . . .’ He reached for the word ‘Gabbro . . .? From inside the earth. Melted . . .’ He frowned.

‘Magma?’ she supplied for him.

He nodded. ‘Magma. Magma.’

‘How are they so perfect?’

‘They were carved by hammering and grinding with smaller stones . . . There are three hundred throughout the land.’

‘Three hundred,’ she marvelled. ‘It’s incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.’

Actually, that wasn’t strictly true. Stonehenge inspired a similar awe and confusion, but there it was the scale of the stones that held the power; here, it was the beauty and symmetry of the spheres that set them apart.

She looked back at him, seeing how he watched her, seeming to appreciate her reaction. ‘William, why have you brought me here?’

‘Come.’ And he walked to the centre of the circle and sat down, inviting her to do the same. There were two flat stones in the centre, like discs, and she was grateful for them, the ground already soft and muddy, rainwater running freely past their feet.

She settled herself, almost sighing with relief to rest, becoming steadily aware of the birdsong again, the slanting light through the trees. Beauty reasserted itself, along with hope. She realized she no longer felt frightened.

William looked at her with his brown eyes that seemed to see more than just what was in front of him. Like the parrots that could see ultraviolet, so she sensed he could read her beyond the normal spectrum. ‘Your father is a rich man.’

She was still. ‘. . . Yes.’

‘He is a good man.’

‘Yes.’

‘And you . . . you are good too.’ They were statements, not questions.

‘I try to be. I’ve made helping others my career.’

‘Even when you did not need to have a career.’

She shrugged. Not many people noticed that.

‘Is Alex good?’

The question startled her. Alex was William’s friend. The very query of whether he was a good person seemed like a betrayal, a suggestion that he was not. But how was she to answer? Could she respond in all honesty that he’d been good to her? He had possibly never harmed anyone as much as he had harmed her.

Her mouth parted, no obvious reply coming to her lips. ‘I believe he has good intentions,’ she said finally.

William stared at her, waiting patiently for the ‘but’.

She took a sharp inhale. ‘But he doesn’t necessarily go about things the right way.’

‘He is too ambitious.’ It was another statement.

‘Yes.’

‘He hurt you.’

Just talking about it hurt her. ‘. . . Yes. But it was a long time ago. It’s all blood under the bridge now, as they say.’

‘Do they?’

‘Well, some people.’ She shrugged again. It seemed to be raining even harder – if that was possible – and yet she noticed it less. The water was warm; it felt somehow . . . cleansing.

William was quiet for several moments. ‘I believe his intentions are good too. I do not believe he deliberately intended to do us harm.’

Tara frowned. ‘Do you harm?’

‘My people. His vision is big, he wants to save the whole world, and if that means sacrificing a few people for the greater good, well . . .’ He shrugged and looked at her meaningfully. ‘You. And us. We are disposable to him.’

There was a brutality to the statement, as well as finality. But was it true? She had seen how Alex’s eyes had shone with pain as the ‘but’ had spun between them too. I had expected to get over it. She didn’t think she had been so disposable after all.

She shifted her feet closer to her bottom, feeling a kernel of worry begin to worm into her stomach. ‘William, God only knows Alex and I have had our issues and I’m not his greatest fan, but I don’t understand what you mean about him doing you harm? He’s not a bad man and I know how important you are to him. I could see it in the way he laughed and spoke with you. He came to live with you.’

‘Yes. We welcomed him as a true friend.’ He nodded slowly, looking around the space they sat in. He closed his eyes, rocking very slightly for a few moments. He opened them again, looking straight at her. There was something about his gaze she felt so unlike