Ravens Gathering (26 page)

“Go on.”

Adam had paused, waiting for a response.  He seemed
disappointed that Martin was giving nothing away, but he didn’t waste time
dwelling on it.

“You don’t seem very surprised.”

“Let’s just say that you aren’t the first to suggest it.”

“The inquisitive policeman?”

Martin nodded.  “Not that he worked that out for
himself.  I don’t think he had the brains for it.”

“One of the villagers, then?”

“Probably more than one.”

During the course of this exchange, Martin had deliberately
not focused on Adam.  He wanted to see how the others reacted as well, so
he allowed his gaze to drift around them all.  They seemed pretty relaxed
now the talking had started, but were clearly intent on what was being
said.  It seemed that none of them wanted to miss anything.  Claire
seemed to be watching him more closely than the others, but that may have been
wishful thinking on his part.

“Did he say why they thought you were involved?”

“Not specifically.  I think it was more about me being
the new boy in town and it coinciding with the problems you’ve all been having.

“You’ve not really been made very welcome, have you?” 
Adam sounded regretful, as if he wished there was something he could have done
to prevent that.

“I didn’t realise you’d been taking such an interest in me.”

“We’re just doing our job.”

“And what’s your job?”

Adam smiled and nodded.  “We’ll get to that.”

But not yet,
Martin interpreted.

“What do you know of the village’s history?” Claire
interrupted.  Adam glanced at her and sat back, letting her take over.

The sudden change of tack put Martin in mind of a police
interrogation.  It made him wonder if he was dealing with a team of
undercover cops.  He decided to roll with it, and see what happened. 
Besides, it meant he could focus more on Claire.

“Not a lot.  I left the village when I was eighteen,
and history wasn’t a big priority for me at that age.” 
It’s not really
a priority for me now,
he thought.

Claire studied him carefully for a moment, apparently
considering what he had just said – but there seemed to be something
more.  “It’s not really a priority for you now, is it?” she said.

He
had
thought he was giving her his full
attention.  He was wrong.  The word perfect recitation of his own
thoughts focused his mind in a way that he hadn’t thought possible.

“That’s true,” he agreed, his tone guarded.

She smiled knowingly at him, and went on: “What do you
remember about nineteen sixty-four?”

Well it wasn’t ancient history, but he supposed it was
history of sorts.  “I was eight years old, Claire.  How much do you
remember from when
you
were eight?”

“Quite a lot, but we need to focus on you, not me.”

In spite of his earlier apprehension, old habits kicked
in.  “I’ll be happy to focus on you, Claire.”

Something flickered behind her eyes.  He couldn’t
identify it with any certainty, but he knew he’d seen it.  The moment
passed quickly, though, and she smiled politely at him.

“We
all
need to focus on you, Martin.”  She made
a fleeting gesture with her hands that somehow managed to take in the rest of
the room.  “So tell us anything you can recall from nineteen sixty-four.”

Put in his place, he sat back and thought about it, but all
he could think was:
I was
eight
.
  When he’d been questioned
by the copper that afternoon, he’d just been annoyed.  He’d certainly had
no intention of being helpful.  Tonight, he tried harder.  It crossed
his mind that it might be because he wanted to impress Claire, though that
would go nowhere for either of them.  Even so, he did seriously consider
her question.  Besides, something about that year did ring a bell. 
But it wasn’t a distant memory.  It was more recent than that.  Even
so, he kept coming back to the same response.

“I can’t remember anything specific to that year.  I
remember getting a new bike for Christmas, and passing my cycling proficiency
test.  I remember having a birthday party, and someone bought me a Disney
jigsaw puzzle.  I remember a holiday at the seaside: my dad bought me a
kite with a picture of a spaceman on it.  I remember running away from
home, and getting as far as Wharton’s Farm before it started to get dark and I
realised I was better off with my mum and dad.”  As he’d recalled these
things, he’d been looking down at his hands.  Finished with his
recollections, he looked up, slightly embarrassed at how personal some of these
revelations had been.  “I can remember lots of things, Claire, but I
couldn’t say with any certainty what year they actually happened in.  Some
of those might have happened in nineteen sixty-four, but I couldn’t tell you
which ones.”

Glances passed between Claire and the others.  He
didn’t know what they signified, and decided it wouldn’t make any difference
right now if he did.

“What if I asked you about Forest Farm?”  Claire still.

He shrugged.  “What about it?”

“It doesn’t trigger any memories?”

“No it doesn’t.”  He was beginning to feel impatient, wondering
why she was reluctant to simply get to the point.

As that thought crossed his mind, her eyes locked on his.

“You’re right,” she said.  “It’s time to stop asking
questions, and start explaining things.”

Had she picked that up just from his tone?  He studied
her face carefully, but her expression offered him no clues.

“This might seem a bit long-winded,” she said, “but we need
to explain everything to you properly.”

“Why?  Are you worried I won’t understand it?”

“No.  You just won’t believe it.”  The words were
spoken evenly.  The lack of stress or emphasis ensured he would take
notice of what she had to say.

“The
Sullivans
owned Forest Farm
for three generations, going back to the end of the last century.  Before
that, the family worked land in this area for hundreds of years.”

“They weren’t ones for travelling then.”

Ignoring Martin’s remark, Claire went on.  “By nineteen
sixty-four, the farmer was Phil Sullivan.  Do you remember
him
?”

He didn’t, but the name was familiar.  And then he
realised where he’d heard it recently.

“Are you going to tell me about him committing suicide?”

“So you
do
remember him?”

“No, but Ian McLean was telling me about how he killed
himself years ago.”  Even as he said it, he recalled more of the
conversation they’d had in the pub the previous evening.  That was why
nineteen sixty-four had seemed familiar.  Ian had told him Phil Sullivan
had shot himself that year.  “Something about finding his wife in bed
with...”  He racked his brains, trying to summon up the details.  “With
his son-in-law?” he said at last, pleased that it was coming back to him
now.  He noticed Adam nodding in response to his words.  “But wasn’t
there some doubt about whether it really was suicide or not?”

“It was suicide.”  Adam’s interjection was quiet but
firm.

“Didn’t his wife top herself a couple of years later?” 
There were at least three winces at his choice of words, including one from
Claire.  He noted that and resolved to think more before speaking.

“Betty did kill herself, yes,” Adam confirmed.  “It was
a very bleak time for the family.”

“I’m not surprised,” Martin said.  “And, to be fair, it
sounds like both of them over-reacted.  But surely she didn’t really
expect to have an affair with her son-in-law and there be no repercussions?”

“She didn’t,” Claire said.

“She didn’t expect there to be no repercussions?”

“No.  She didn’t have an affair.”

“So she wasn’t found in bed with her son-in-law?”

“It’s not as straightforward as that.”  Claire
grimaced, as if she was recalling the incident herself.  “Someone else was
involved.”  She fixed her gaze on Martin.  “And now they’re back.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”  Martin looked around
the faces staring intently at him, clearly waiting for a reaction.

“What do you mean?”  Adam seemed puzzled by his
comment.

“You don’t seriously think
I
was...”  He tailed
off, recalling his resolve to think before speaking.  “I mean, I was
eight
. 
I hadn’t even reached puberty.”

Realisation struck Adam first, and then, like dominoes
falling, horrified looks appeared on their faces.

“No, no!”  Adam again.  “That’s not what Claire
meant.  No one else had sex with Betty.”  His familiar use of the
first name struck Martin as odd.  Both brother and sister had referred to
her that way now, and it seemed strange coming from people who would have
barely been teenagers when the woman died.  “I’m afraid we can’t get away
from the fact that it was Ray.”

“Ray?”

“Ray Smith, the son-in-law.”

“Ah.  So if they did...” he hesitated, then realised
Adam had been blunt enough, “...have sex, what do you mean when you say
‘someone else was involved’?”

Glances passed between Adam and Claire, as if to say: “Do
you want to do this, or shall I?”  It seemed Claire got the short straw.

“They were being controlled.”

“What?  Blackmailed?”  He thought back to the
implication of the look he’d been given a few moments ago.  “And you think
I
was responsible?  I was only....”

“...Eight,” she completed for him.  “Yes, I think we
all got that.”  The warmth of her smile surprised him.  They all
seemed so serious about whatever it was they were trying to tell him.  Yet
she had seen humour and used it lightly.   “Don’t worry,
Martin.  No one’s blaming you.”

He thought about his family, and wondered if that was
true.  Was it possible that the things Claire was going to tell him might
shed some light on why they rejected him?  Claire didn’t give him time to
dwell on that.

“There was no blackmail.  When I say they were being
controlled, I mean someone physically forced them to do it.”  She paused
and thought about that.  “And even that’s not quite right,” she said,
clearly frustrated with her inability to explain things.

“Perhaps we should go back further,” Adam suggested. 
“Maybe we need to fill Martin in with who we are.”

Claire nodded her agreement and treated Martin to another
smile.  He liked them.

“We’re sentinels,” she said simply.  When he didn’t
interrupt with a question she went on: “Our job is to wait and watch for the
ravens gathering.  Because when they do, a man comes to this place. 
And when he comes, he brings pain and misery with him.  The last time the
ravens gathered was in nineteen sixty-four.”

“He’s not a regular visitor, then.”

She ignored his flippancy, and brought his attempt at humour
to a sharp end:  “About once every twenty-five years.”  She nodded at
the baffled look on his face.  “This has been going on for a long
time.  And this is where you’re going to have to trust me, because I’m
going to say a few things now that won’t make sense at first.  So just
bear with me.”

Apart from the fact that he’d been brought here against his
will, Martin couldn’t think of any reason not to trust her.

“You used irony when you made the remark about him being a
regular visitor.”

“More sarcasm than irony.”

The look on her face told him he was pushing boundaries
unnecessarily.  He shrugged sheepishly.

“He
is
a regular visitor.  Just not in the way
you meant.  He’s been coming here since long before Ravens Gathering
existed.”

“Bearing in mind your comment that your job is to watch for
the ravens gathering, I take it the name isn’t a coincidence.”

“I’m sure not, though I couldn’t tell you who first gave it
that name.  Certainly, it’s been called that since before the
Domesday
Book.  And there were sentinels here long
before that.”

“Okay,” he said at last.  “Let me get this
straight.  You’re telling me that you’ve been here for centuries and your
sole purpose in life is to watch out for this guy who pops up here every
twenty-five years?”

Claire smiled.  “I think I need to flesh out that explanation,”
she said.  He got the impression she was humouring him, but he liked the
smile anyway.

“Firstly, the sentinels are part of the Order.  The
Order itself is not based at Ravens Gathering. 
Kindness Farm
is an
outpost, if you like, with just a few of us acting as sentinels.  Most
members of the Order live at the Refuge in France.”

“Well, the climate’s better,” Martin said lightly.

She cocked her head and looked at him.  The message she
conveyed was for him to shut up.  But the method told him she was amused,
in spite of the circumstances.

“It is at the moment,” she said.  “But we didn’t make a
choice based on the weather.  The point I’m making, Martin, is that the
location of the Refuge has nothing to do with why we are here in Ravens
Gathering.

“The Order’s purpose is to protect the continuity of
humanity and the Earth.  That probably sounds somewhat extreme, but I
can’t think of a clearer way to explain it.  We’ve existed for as long as
there has been what you might call intelligent life.”

“Might?”

“Well, intelligence tends to suggest rational thought, and
there’s not actually too much of that out there.  We’re more emotional
than we like to think, and more intuitive than we realise.”

“So by ‘we’ I take it you’re including yourselves as
humans?”

“Don’t doubt that for a second,” Adam put in sharply.

“For now, though,” Claire continued as if she hadn’t been
interrupted, “let’s stick with the concept of intelligent life, even if it’s
only as a form of shorthand.”

Conscious of Adam’s interjection, Martin just nodded.

“I don’t propose to give you a full history of the Order,
but there are some things that might help you to appreciate what we’re
about.  For instance, although I’ve said it’s existed since there was
intelligent life, it wasn’t put together simply by a group of people who
thought it’d be a good idea.  Our connection with the Source is far too
significant to suggest it’s a purely human creation.”

The question was begging to be asked.

“What’s the Source?”

“The Source is an energy that runs through all of us:
humans, animals, plant life...   Every organism, every cell, has the
Source inside it, connecting us all.  It even exists within things we
consider to be inanimate, like rocks and earth and the air we breathe. 
Without it, nothing would exist on the planet.”

“Are you talking about God?”

“Not in the sense you mean.  For most people God
assumes a creator that cares.  The Source is a part of Creation, but it
makes no judgement about our actions, or the consequences of them. It’s
indifferent.  It’s just there.

 “As humans we’re unique.  We think, we
rationalise...”

“But only in a limited way,” Martin reminded her.

She smiled, and he enjoyed the moment.

“True,” she said.  “But compared to every other
creature on the planet, we at least have the capacity to be rational.  Not
that it always leads to good things happening.  Humans are very
complex.  For some reason, the Source created us that way.  We can
only guess at why.”

“Is It playing a game with us?” Martin wondered.

“Maybe.  And maybe we’ll never know.”

“But somehow this... Source... is connected to your Order?”

“Yes.  Though, as I’ve mentioned, it’s connected to
each and every one of us anyway.  But the connection with the Order is
very strong.  We open ourselves up to it and it flows through us.”

Intrigued, Martin asked: “And what does that feel like?”

Claire shrugged.  “If I was to explain it to you
properly, I’d have to understand what it felt like to live without it, and I’ve
never known anything different.”

“Then how do you know you don’t feel the same as us ordinary
mortals?”  Martin was careful not to make his tone too mocking.

Without warning, she reached out and touched his hand. 
A tingling sensation erupted through his arm and up to his shoulder.  He jolted
backwards, breaking the contact, and the tingling stopped.  Before he had
time to react, her hand was on top of his again.  This time, there was
nothing more than the warmth of flesh on flesh.

“What was
that
?” he murmured, almost
breathless.  Everything had happened so quickly, he hadn’t had time to
process how he was feeling.

“The Source passing through me to you.  Don’t be afraid
of it.  It won’t do you any harm.  It can’t, because it’s already
inside you anyway.  The difference at the moment is that it’s dormant.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t
know
it’s there yet.  Like
most people, you haven’t opened yourself up to it.”

“So are you saying only people who are in this... Order...
are open to it?”

“Oh no!  There are lots of people in the world who
feel
it.  They don’t understand what it is, necessarily.  Some think it’s
a connection to God, or they have a particularly spiritual leaning, or just
feel at one with nature.  So we’re not unique in feeling it.  We just
have a better understanding of what it is.”

“And that’s because the Source is somehow linked to your
Order?”

“Yes.  There are elements in this world, Martin, that
you can’t begin to imagine, and the Source has provided us with exceptional
gifts, both physical and metaphysical.  They’re gifts, but they carry with
them a responsibility.”

“What kind of responsibility?”

“A responsibility to protect humankind from destroying
itself.”