The Dream Weavers by Barbara Erskine (books you have to read txt) 📕

little mirror, the instinctive gesture she had barely been conscious of making. Was that retaliation? Or did it count as self-defence?

‘So, what happened to make her see the light?’

Mark gave a rueful smile. ‘Apparently it was a paramedic.’

Mark drove Bea up to the cottage that afternoon. Emma, white as a sheet, with great dark rings under her eyes, seemed overwhelmed with exhaustion. Bea followed her out into the garden at the back of the cottage while Mark and Simon sat out in front on the terrace.

‘It must have been very frightening, all alone on that hillside in the dark.’ Bea went straight to the point.

Emma nodded. She sat down on the wooden bench under the apple tree, leaving room for Bea beside her, then she groped at the back of her neck to unfasten the gold chain she wore there. ‘Look at this. Dad went and bought me a chain this morning.’

Bea looked down at the little cross in her outstretched hand. She could feel an ice-cold halo emanating from the gold. ‘That was what Nesta gave you?’

Emma looked at her, astonished. ‘How did you know that?’

‘I saw her. She was there for you, to keep you safe.’

Emma swallowed hard. She closed her fist over the little ornament, letting the chain dangle through her fingers. ‘And you were watching over me too.’ She turned towards Bea and clutched her hand tightly. ‘This little cross feels weird. It’s holding me there, close to them.’

‘Then why have you kept it on?’

‘Because I want to. Because I don’t dare take it off. It’s to protect me, to save me from her.’

‘From Eadburh?’

Emma nodded. ‘She screamed when she knew he was dead.’

Bea nodded. ‘I heard her, sweetheart.’ No one could forget that level of despair, echoing down the centuries.

‘If she knew I had made love to him, she would kill me.’

Bea looked at her sternly. ‘But you were her, Emma. You were not yourself. You and she were woven into a dream together; it was never a reality. You dreamt her dream and she dreamt yours.’

‘And if I dream it again?’

‘I don’t think you will.’

Emma’s gaze was so full of doubt, Bea felt a shiver run down her spine. She reached down and took the cross out of Emma’s hand. She had an eerie feeling she had seen this cross before. In another dream she had seen Elisedd give it to Nesta. She would never know for sure. None of this made sense, but for Emma it was a treasured amulet to keep her safe and that was all that mattered. She kissed it with a silent prayer then reached out to fasten it back round Emma’s neck. ‘Take it off when you want to. Don’t feel trapped by it. Appreciate its blessing.’

Emma reached up to touch it. ‘I slept in the car on the way home last night, but the moment we were here I felt more and more cold. I slept with it in my hand. It kept me safe. It’s strange though. Out here, in the garden, in the sun, it’s worse.’ She bit her lip. ‘I wanted you to tell me what’s wrong. I’ve never liked it out here at the back. I’ve never been able to sit under this tree. On the terrace it’s fine and the house is fine, but here?’

Here, where Bea had seen the figure of Eadburh, a shadow under this very tree on that first day she had come up here alone to find out why Simon thought his holiday home was haunted.

And suddenly she knew why. She looked at Emma, still seated on the bench beside her, and she nodded. ‘But you know why too, Emma. This is your dream. Tell me what is wrong out here. This is an important lesson for you. Close your eyes. Let the story come.’

‘You will be here? You won’t let me go?’

‘I’ll be here.’

Eadburh left the convent of St Melangell as the winter snows receded, the hares began to lose their white winter coats and the first brush of spring touched the high mountains of Pennant. She kissed the abbess goodbye and with sturdy shoes and staff and a new leather scrip stitched for her by one of the novice nuns she set off for the south. She was alone this time but for her beloved Ava. Theo had returned with the young monk to Meifod before the snows had set in and planned to become a novice there. She needed no one with her as she headed back towards the court of the King of Mercia. She seemed to be guided every step of the way. He was at Sutton, a larger palace by far now, so she had heard, than in her father’s day, with rich stone buildings and verdant fields and it was her plan to demand her right as a Queen of Wessex and Princess of Mercia to a place at his table.

Perhaps she had always meant to turn off her path and head for the high ridge where she and Elisedd had trysted under the summer skies. Last time she had come here on horseback; this time it was as a penitent on foot. She was very tired as she toiled up the long track and stood at last on the summit of the ridge, gazing down across the hazy distances the way she had come from the heart of the kingdom of Powys. She had met no dragons, but she had seen the shrine of the hares as he had promised. She stood for a long time watching as the sun moved lower in the sky and settled into a crimson haze. Slowly the light faded, until there was nothing left but a narrow line of dull red cloud along the far horizon and all at once it was gone.

She turned and made her way in the dark towards the sheepfold where they had made love. There, behind the wall, she found a pile of dry leaves, blown by the wind.