1
Xanthe stepped forward onto the smooth, flat stones which were all that remained of the ruined castle walls. She registered the resistance of the ancient sandstone through the worn leather soles of her boots. After the springy grass of the hill it felt unyielding and solid. The April sunshine was not strong enough to warm it, the hilltop breeze whipping away the warmth of the fading day. She waited, closing her eyes against the distraction of the far-reaching view, holding herself still and quiet, listening, hoping. Yearning. She could hear skylarks whirring a ways off, and the chatter of small children as they were led back down the footpath toward home. She was aware of the light wind tugging at her loose ponytail. She could detect the aroma of the peaty soil in the air. She could feel her own heartbeat thud against her eardrums.
But nothing sang to her.
No lost souls cried out to her.
No time-distant injustice called to her.
A shadow, broad and cool, came between Xanthe and the sunshine. She opened her eyes to find Harley standing close, watching her, concern etched on his grizzled features.
“Anything, hen?”
She shook her head.
Harley rubbed his beard, looking thoughtfully at their surroundings. “Not even here?”
“I was so certain this would be the place. I really thought…”
“Aye, it has all the ingredients, right enough. Ancient settlement with evidence of inhabitation from 3000 BC; ruined castle and cathedral; fortifications refortified by William the Conqueror his very self; fine views of three counties for fifty miles or more; and sitting right bang slap on top of one of the strongest ley lines in the whole of England.” He looked at her again, bushy brows raised. “Not even a whisper? A tingle? A tiny snatch of song?”
“Not so much as a note,” she said, trying hard not to let her disappointment show. She had to stay focused. Without her, Liam was lost forever, it was as simple and as terrifying as that. It was because of her that he had failed to make the journey home. It was up to her to find him and bring him safely back. It had been her idea to visit the ancient hill fort of Old Sarum. For two weeks since her solitary return from Corsham Hall in 1820, she had searched fairs and markets for something that might sing to her and lead her to Liam. Something that would trigger her unique sensitivity—the psychometry that enabled her to detect the long past stories of those objects—so that she could travel through time again. Her skills as a Spinner were growing, as was her success at using the Spinners book to move through time, but before she stepped into the blind house again she needed to be sure. She needed to know for certain that she was traveling to the right place, and as crucially, the right time, to find Liam. A found thing, one that sang strongly to her, would be the surest sign, she believed, the surest way, to help her make the right journey. But all her searches had been fruitless. Trying a different tack, and with Harley’s help, she had turned to the part that ley lines played in her ability to spin through time. The old lockup in her garden sat upon an intersection of two strong lines of the mysterious energy that connected ancient and sacred places. She had reasoned that another powerful location might spark something. Was it possible for a place to sing to her in the same way a precious object could? The complete lack of so much as a whisper was a crushing blow.
Harley was sensitive to what this failure meant to her.
“I’m of the opinion a person’s thoughts flow easier with a full belly,” he told her.
She hesitated, reluctant to abandon the day’s mission, yet knowing there was nothing further to be gained by staying on the hilltop.
“Pub?” she suggested.
“Pub,” he agreed.
A mile from the earthworks, The Soldier’s Arms was set back from the road and offered a fine selection of local ales. She chose a corner table, the weather not quite warm enough to tempt her outside to the beer garden, and Harley fetched the drinks. The pub clearly catered to tourists, but managed to do so without entirely losing its charm. She found the low murmur of their fellow drinkers’ conversations familiar and comforting. Harley returned with a brimming pint glass for himself and a smaller measure for her.
“Here ye are, designated driver.” He set the drinks on the little round table between them and eased himself onto the high-backed wooden seat, which creaked in complaint at his not inconsiderable weight. “According to yon barman”—he nodded at the skinny man serving—“interest in ley lines has had something of a renewal in these parts lately. Lots of visitors haul their backsides up that hill in the hope of sensing the special energy of the place.”
“Well, I hope they have better luck than we did.”
Harley drank deeply, wiped his beard with the back of his hand, and let out a happy sigh. He picked a menu out of the holder on the table and handed one to her. “Food, lass. And after we’ve eaten and drunk, we’ll bring our minds to bear on the matter in hand once more, but not before. Deal?”
She was happy to agree. After the initial shock of finding Liam had been separated from her as they had traveled to their own time, she had put all her energy into discovering a way to find him. And yet, despite her best efforts and input from both Harley and her mother, nothing had worked. She felt no closer to knowing what time he had gone to. Or rather, what time he had been taken to. It still hurt her to accept how Mistress Flyte had betrayed her. The Spinners book had revealed the fact that the old woman harbored secrets, but she would never have thought her capable of doing something so awful. What possible reason could she have for snatching Liam in the way that she had? Xanthe had spent restless nights trying to make sense of it. There were times when a few moments of normality to recharge and reset her tormented thoughts were extremely necessary. She and Harley chose beer-battered fish and chips for their lunch and ate in companionable silence, serenaded by the gentle noises of the pub. She watched people at the other tables, wondering what secrets their own lives held, feeling a separation from the normality they experienced. A distance from a life of straightforward challenges and obstacles. Her gift as a Spinner was something to be grateful for, something that humbled her and filled her with wonder. It was also, however, something that came at a price, and at that moment, the price was too high and was being paid by someone she cared for deeply. After their meal, feeling fortified, she and Harley returned to the topic of Old Sarum.
“How can somewhere so ancient, so full of past lives and important events … how can it not speak to me?” she wondered aloud. “I mean, on another level it does, of course. Like anyone else, I can appreciate the history, imagine what the settlements would have been like … but as a Spinner, I find nothing.”
He gave an expansive shrug, the leather of his biker’s jacket stretching over his broad shoulders as he did so. “It’s your first-rate ley line location, no doubt about that, connecting Stonehenge and Salisbury Cathedral. The story goes that some ambitious bishop decided the original cathedral, up on yon hill, was too wind-blasted and remote for his needs.”
“Can’t have been fun slogging up there in the winter.”
“Right enough. So, he got one of the king’s finest archers to stand on the highest point and shoot an arrow into the valley below. He decreed that wherever the arrow fell, that is where the new cathedral would be built. Most likely hoping for a bit of soft meadow down near the river, close enough and cheap enough to rebuild on.”
“So how come we ended up with Salisbury Cathedral, miles away? Must have been quite an archer.”
“He was good, aye, but not that good. Legend has it he loosed his arrow but it struck a deer, somewhere not instantly fatal, apparently. Said deer hoofed it south, only to expire on the location of the current and spectacular cathedral. Bishop was so pleased with himself he only went and built the tallest spire in the whole of the country. Still is, matter of fact.”
“Fascinating, Harley, but not helpful, I’m afraid. No, if Old Sarum isn’t going to give me the clues I need, I think we have to accept that ley lines are not the answer. Or at least they are a part of it, but not the most significant part. Which, if I’m honest, I think I always knew.”
“It was worth a try. And the fish here is superb.” He smiled at her, trying hard to keep the mood light.
Not for the first time, she was grateful for her burly friend’s support. With Harley and Flora now aware of her astonishing ability, at least she no longer had to face the challenges of being a Spinner alone.
When she arrived back at The Little Shop of Found Things it was nearly closing time. Having dropped Harley off at The Feathers and parked up her trusty black cab, she hurried through the front door, calling above the clanging of the brass bell.
“Mum? I’m back.” As always, the smell of beeswax polish and old leather in the main part of the shop was welcoming and familiar, speaking to her of a childhood spent surrounded by antiques, and now the excitement and hope she shared with her mother for their new venture.
Flora appeared in the hallway, stepping out of the room that was her workshop, wiping her hands on a rag as she leaned on her crutches.
Copyright © 2021 by Paula Brackston
