Heart of the Hill (14 page)

Chantel and Mr. Smythe watched from the field as Adam crisscrossed the slope above them.

“Is he in a trance?” asked Chantel uneasily. “It's like he doesn't know we're here anymore?”

“He doesn't. He's divining, working an ancient meditative art.” Mr. Smythe patted Chantel's shoulder. “Don't be scared, that's what's supposed to happen. Come on. We'll drive to the far side of the hill, climb the steps and watch his progress from the summit.”

Chantel began to follow but paused at the top of the stile to watch Adam again. She waved, but he didn't respond.

A fragment of an old song her mom would sing at bedtime popped unbidden into Chantel's head. “I'll see you again,” she sang softly, “in all the old familiar places.” The sweet notes hung in the air.

Adam hesitated, as though the music momentarily penetrated his consciousness, then he continued on, disappearing around the side of the hill.

Chantel jumped off the stile and hurried to the car.

Back at Myrddin's house, Holly drifted into dreamworld. She was floating like a feather cradled by curls of mist. She glimpsed water below as the mist shredded and parted. Tiny waves swelled and flattened, and Holly followed their rhythm, up and down, up and down, relaxing into a deep, deep, sleep.

Suddenly her fever rose, and Holly's body grew hot, then cold: a mind-numbing, bone-chilling cold.

The howl of the wind roused her. She shivered. The mist was cold and damp. The waves below frothed around a rocky outcrop and beat across the stony beach of a dark and forbidding island.

The island drew her like a magnet.

Holly didn't want to go. She resisted, flapping her arms to regain height and control. She tried to turn her body and fly back into sleep, but the mist thickened and roped around her, restricting movement.

Hidden in the shadow of the cliff below, a dark figure spun the mist into threads and reeled her in.

Owen's dreamself flew in and out of the mists of sleep until he sensed Holly's presence. He followed her. It was pretty boring. She was aimlessly drifting through clouds and over a body of water. He flapped along behind her, livening up the dream with an occasional dive or roll down to the water and back up again. He saw the island before Holly did and gave a subdued cheer. Maybe now her dream would become more interesting.

“Uh-oh,” he murmured as Holly suddenly twisted, turned and kicked, as though fighting against something. He watched as the mist thickened around her, and she was drawn down and tumbled onto the island's shore. He spotted two cloaked figures waiting in the shadows, one reeling Holly in, the second watching. They stepped forward as Holly sprawled on the pebbles.

Owen glided silently through the mist and landed on the hilltop above them. He concealed himself behind a crag.

The taller of the cloaked figures smirked. “I told you my powers were strong. Here comes your proof, Vivienne. I entered this child's dreams.” Zorianna drew her cloak more closely around her body and shuddered. “Though why the child dreamed of the Tor this far back in time I do not know. What a miserable place it was, always wet.”

“This is the time of the Lake Villages, when the Tor was a island sanctuary called Avalon. The child came here when she walked my labyrinth. It is still in her mind,” said Vivienne.

“No matter. Watch me take control.” Zorianna stretched out her hand and beckoned with a long finger.

Holly's body jerked, and her head and shoulders raised from the beach. She looked toward the two figures, shuddered and dropped back again.

“See! Do I not keep my promise?” hissed Zorianna. “The girl is under my control. There lies your replacement, Vivienne. Feed her with crumbs of power and soon you will taste freedom, and I will have the first of many humans under my command.” She beckoned Holly again.

Vivienne said nothing but watched with interest as Holly's body jerked liked a robot and tried to rise.

Holly felt stiff and clumsy. The cold seeped through her skin and chilled her bones. Even her blood ran slow. She pressed her hands into the pebbles, forced her shoulders up and made an effort to bend her stiff knees so she was crawling. She stopped as a wave of nausea made her retch.

Nothing made sense. She remembered returning from the doctor's and falling asleep in the guest bedroom at Myrddin's house. She remembered floating through mist. But where was she now, and why was she feeling so wretched? Why did she feel like a puppet on a string?

Her body jerked again.

She
was
a puppet! Somebody was making her body move!

A wave of hot anger thrust her to her feet. This was a nightmare. Who was jerking her around?

Shivering, Holly turned toward the cliff. Two cloaked figures lurked in the deep shadow. Another wave of anger gave her some strength. “Who do you think you are, pulling me from the dream-mist like a fish on a line?” she demanded. “Where am I? What do you want of me?” She shook sand and gravel out of her curls with hands that trembled, but her eyes glared.

A faint smile hovered on Vivienne's lips. Zorianna had yet to experience cantankerous humans and their concept of free choice. This might prove amusing.

Owen watched from the crags. “Go easy, Holly,” he muttered. “I'm not sure who you're dreaming about, but those two women look nasty.” He drew back behind the rock and tried to think of a way to help. I wish I could ask Myrddin about them, he thought. Memory of Myrddin's words rang through his head: “Watch over her from a distance. Do not approach or interfere unless she calls for assistance.”

Owen peered down again. Holly wasn't asking for help yet; she was just plain mad. He gave a little grin. Holly didn't get mad very often, but when she did, boy, was she stubborn!

“The girl resists. How dare she?” said Zorianna.

Vivienne smirked. “Humans are complex beings. It might be better if we make her dream more comfortable. Then she will relax.” She stepped forward. “Welcome, child.”

Holly swayed, a puzzled look on her face.

“Come,” encouraged Vivienne. “Let us show you the wonders of this place, but first you need food and warmth, for your journey was long.” She gestured toward a cleft in the cliff behind her.

“Do I know you?” Holly rubbed her forehead. “Your voice…it sounds familiar.” She looked up and down the dark shore. “Where am I? Who are you?”

“That is not important right now,” snapped Zorianna.

“What is important is that you are here. Come!” With a swirl of her cloak Zorianna led the way into the cleft.

Holly stood her ground.

Angrily Zorianna turned and lifted her arm again, but Vivienne stepped between her and Holly. “Persuasion, not persecution,” she murmured, then called across to Holly again. “Come child. Eat and rest before you continue.”

The smell of roasting chicken stole across the beach.

Holly's mouth watered. She had not eaten for hours.

Vivienne gestured toward the cave entrance, and Holly glimpsed the flicker of fire inside.

An icy wind blew, and waves splashed around Holly's feet. She edged farther up the beach. The wind strengthened, and soon the waves were crashing and hissing around her.

Once more the smell of roasting chicken assailed her nostrils, and the promise of warmth and comfort flickered from the cleft. Holly followed the women inside.