Sands of Time (46 page)

Hold on to it. Don’t let them have it!

Carstairs’ voice was strong.

Save it, Anna. Keep it for us!

Inside the bottle the last drop of liquid seeped past the cork. And was blown away in the wind. As their final echoing shrieks of despair dissipated into silence the two figures began to fade. The last traces of mist vanished over the sea.

Anna took a deep breath. She was only yards from the water. They couldn’t stop her. No one could stop her now.

‘Can you feel it? The power?’ she cried. ‘Over there. Along the coast? And here. Even better, here in the sea! This is where the bottle belongs! This is where it is going! To follow the priests into oblivion!’ Running down across the last strip of pebbles she headed for the waves.

No! Stop!

Suddenly he seemed to realise what she had in mind. She felt a blow on her shoulder. She spun round as fingers grasped her wrist. The bottle was being wrestled from her hand. The bubble wrap tore free and she saw it bowling away along the shingle as the bottle slipped from her grasp and fell amongst the stones. Without a second’s thought she swooped on it and falling to her knees she picked up a large smooth stone. She had forgotten the danger. She had forgotten to be afraid. Her only thought was to prevent Roger Carstairs snatching the bottle from her. At all costs she had to stop him from getting it. Lifting her arm she brought the stone down on the bottle with all her strength.

No!

His scream of anguish was appalling as the glass splintered, and suddenly the whole world seemed to stand still. The wind dropped. The sea grew silent. She knelt there on the stones staring down at the small patch of broken glass. Amongst the splinters, a few damp grains of sand sifted, ran down into the shingle and disappeared.

Anna cringed, waiting.

Nothing happened. No explosion. No Egyptian goddess. No archangels. No high priests. As the last touch of moisture evaporated into the air the power was gone. On the horizon the sky was blazing, but it was a silent sunrise.

Then slowly she became aware of the sound of the sea again. And the wind. A gust blew past her and the final grains of Egyptian sand disappeared. The crunched slivers of glass settled in amongst the stones and vanished. In a few moments the rising tide would come and obliterate the spot. She climbed to her feet and watched as the sea crashed in up the beach, swirling, clean. Purifying.

A gull flew up the beach past her, its eerie cry echoing in the wind.

It seems you win, Anna
.

He was still there.

‘The priests have gone.’ She was defiant; triumphant.

Indeed they have. The breath of Isis sustained them. They
were always beyond my command
.

‘You thought something would happen, didn’t you? You thought the whole world would blow up!’ Shaking as much from cold as fear, she was staring down at the line of waves breaking on the shore at her feet. She had already lost sight of the place where the bottle had broken.

Indeed I did. As did you. Which makes you a brave woman.
A worthy descendant of my Louisa.
There was a pause.
But
a foolish one. Did you think to thwart me so easily? I will
find the power I need. One day
.

She turned. There was still no sign of him. The beach was empty. ‘What is it you want power for? You still haven’t told me.’

Nor will I! But when I have it the whole world will hear
once again of Roger Carstairs!

She shuddered.

And so will you, Anna. So will you. But in the meantime,
maybe after all
you
are the right woman for my great-great
grandson. You could make a man of him
.

Anna was staring out to sea, her hands wedged into her pockets.

On the horizon a crimson segment of sun was beginning to show.

‘Do you remember the Egyptian dawn?’ she whispered. ‘The birth of the Sun God, Ra?’

But the tears of Isis had vanished; there was no place any longer for Egyptian magic in this cold land on the edge of the world. In seconds the rising sun was swallowed by a line of black cloud. The crimson path of light in the sea was extinguished; the water turned grey. Sizewell power station vanished in the drifting mist.

There was a quiet chuckle. She turned. It sounded so close. So real. Then she felt him. His hands were on her shoulders. His lips on hers.

So. The god has gone too. For now. Goodbye. Good luck,
my dear
. She could feel his breath on her cheek. Smell the sweet pomade.
We could have been so good together. It
is a shame we weren’t born in the same century, Mrs Fox. A
great shame. But I will return for you one day. Make no
mistake about that.
The voice was fading to a whisper.
Until then, farewell
.

And the voice was gone.

Only the sound of the shift and suck of the tide on the beach and the cry of gulls broke the cold silence of the dawn.

19

When Toby and Phyllis and Serena arrived it had been full daylight for a while. Anna was sitting on the sea wall, her hands in her pockets, her coat collar turned up around her neck. The tide was at its height, gentler now, lapping at the seaweed and shells which marked its highest point. Soon it would start its retreat and draw back across the beach, leaving it sparkling and clean.

Anna looked up as they approached. She smiled wearily. ‘It’s all over. The bottle has gone.’

They stopped in their tracks. ‘Are you sure?’ It was Toby who voiced the thought they all shared.

She nodded. ‘I smashed it.’

‘And what happened?’

‘Nothing! The tears of Isis had evaporated. All there was left inside were a few grains of sand.’

‘And Carstairs?’ Toby scanned her face anxiously.

She frowned. ‘Carstairs has gone too.’ Stiffly she rose to her feet. ‘He left you a message before he went.’

Toby frowned. He braced himself visibly. ‘What was it?’

‘He seemed to think you and I had a future together.’ She reached out and took his hand. ‘He gave us his blessing; he said he thought a Shelley woman could make a man of you!’

‘What?’ For a moment his face was a picture of indignation. Then it relaxed and he reached out towards her and drew her into his arms. ‘She might at that,’ he said softly. ‘She just might, if she could ever grow to trust me again.’

She smiled. ‘I trust you, Toby.’

As they kissed in the ice cold wind Serena and Phyllis exchanged glances.

‘Yes!’ Phyllis raised her thumb in triumph.

Nestling into Toby’s arms Anna clung to him tightly. The rest of Lord Carstairs’ final message she would keep to herself.

The Storyteller

I am a storyteller.

I sit by the fire

With the night at my back

And wait for you to come.

I am a storyteller.

One by one you draw near

And sit down in the shadows

Silently

To wait

For the weaving of words.

I am a storyteller.

I paint pictures in your head

Which dance and spin and live

And change the world into mirrored glass.

I am a storyteller.

I conjure the sea

And juggle the stars.

I deal the cards

I cut the pack.

And captive, with a shiver,

You glance over your shoulder

Into the night.

I am a storyteller.

I hold the strings in my hand.

I command your tears and I let you laugh

And you hold your breath as I weave my

  tale.

I am a storyteller.

Silent. Alone, I watch others play.

From the shadows

I peer into warm lighted windows

Unnoticed. Outside. On my own.

I am a storyteller.

I hold the reins.

I knit with emotion

At the foot of the blade.

Splashed by your blood

I tell them your history.

Then I turn back again

Into anonymity and silence.

I am a storyteller.

You must listen with care.

I can banish your boredom

And teach you to listen.

But when I finish

I will no longer be there.

I am a storyteller.

When the fire flames die

At last I am quiet.

You go back to your houses;

To the lights and the noise.

And I fade back

Into the dark.

About the Author

SANDS OF TIME

Barbara Erskine is the author of
Lady of Hay
, which has sold well over a million copies worldwide,
Kingdom of Shadows, Encounters
and
Child of the Phoenix
, which was based on the story of one of her own ancestors.
Midnight is
a Lonely Place
and
House of Echoes
were short- listed for the W H Smith Thumping Good Read awards of 1995 and 1997 respectively and were followed by
Distant Voices
and
On the Edge
of Darkness
. Her most recent novels,
Whispers
in the Sand
and
Hiding From the Light
were both
Sunday Times
top ten bestsellers. Barbara Erskine’s novels have been translated into thirty languages.

Barbara Erskine has a degree in mediaeval Scottish history from Edinburgh University. She and her family divide their time between the Welsh borders and their home near the coast of North Essex.

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Praise for Barbara Erskine:

‘Barbara Erskine’s storytelling talent is undeniable’

The Times

‘Her forte is mood, atmosphere and toe-curling frisson.’

ELIZABETH BUCHAN,
Sunday Times

By the same author

LADY OF HAY
KINGDOM OF SHADOWS
ENCOUNTERS
(Short stories)
CHILD OF THE PHOENIX
MIDNIGHT IS A LONELY PLACE
HOUSE OF ECHOES
DISTANT VOICES
(Short stories)
ON THE EDGE OF DARKNESS
WHISPERS IN THE SAND
HIDING FROM THE LIGHT

Copyright

HarperCollins
Publishers
77– 85 Fulham Palace Road,
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperCollins
Publishers
2003

Copyright © Barbara Erskine 2003
and as follows:
‘Lost in the Temple’ (
Woman and Home
) 2000;
‘What Price Magic?’ (
Candis
) 2000;
‘Second Sight’ (
YOU Magazine
) 1996;
‘The Cottage Kitchen’ (
Woman’s Weekly
) 1997;
‘Barney’ (
Candis
) 1999;
‘First Class Travel’ (
Candis
) 2001.