The Truth Against the World (13 page)

“Well, if it isn't Miss Olwen Evans,” said a booming voice. I looked over to see Hugh waving at me. “
Shw mae?
”

“
Shw mae
,” I said, to which Hugh and his companions responded with an outburst of pleased-sounding laughter. I blushed. “I'm just heading back to the cottage. I'll see you later. Uh, how do you say that in Welsh?”

“
Wela i ti!
” Hugh grinned at me.

“Come back here any time, day or night, if you want to learn more Welsh—you'll find Hugh here
siwr o fod
,” said one woman at the table. She gave Hugh a fond smile.

“Yes, because Annie here won't let me back into our house without buying her a pint,” he teased back, kissing her on the cheek loudly.

“Thanks,” I said. “Maybe later.
Wela i ti.
” I smiled at them and ducked out the door. Maybe I'd track down Hugh next time I got bored. Getting to speak Welsh with a real person … it would be nothing like practicing with software, that was for sure.

The moment I walked into the cottage, I smelled broiling steak and baking potatoes. My dad hurriedly introduced me to Dafydd, a garrulous older man with graying dark hair and a paunch who turned out to be Gee Gee's nephew. For most of dinner, he talked about his work as a bank manager in nearby Llanelli, flashing nervous smiles at Gee Gee every so often. I felt sorry for him. He obviously wanted to be supportive in some way, and just as obviously didn't know how.

After dinner was over and Dafydd had left, Mom cornered me to help with the dishes.

“You missed Margie and Peter while you were out on the town,” she said, handing me a dripping plate to dry. “You know, Peter works in the museum. Did you get down to that end of the village?”

I dried the plate with a dishrag. “Yeah, but the museum was closed. I ran into Hugh in the pub, though.”

“Oh, Wyn, you didn't go in that place, did you?” Mom shot me a look. “You're underage.”

“I just poked my head in the door to see what it was like,” I said defensively. “People were eating in there. It wasn't like it was a bar or anything.”

“I know. I just don't want you getting into trouble while you're walking around alone.” Mom sighed. “It's one thing to let you run around and explore, but things are different here. Kids grow up faster.” She smiled at me tiredly. “I guess I just don't want you growing up too fast.”

Oh God.
“Okay, okay.” I hung up the damp dish towel, exasperated. “I think I'm going to get ready for bed now.” I couldn't deal with this conversation anymore.

“It's a little early,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “You must still be jet lagged.”

I managed not to comment on that, and I said good night.

When I went in to hug Gee Gee, she was already asleep. She was breathing loudly and shallowly, her jaw slack, and that sick feeling of anxiety I'd managed to ignore all day started to come back. Tomorrow I'd spend the day with her, no matter what. The Internet and the post office would wait.

I knew I was dreaming as soon as I saw the mirror. It was the carved, heavy wood-framed mirror from my bedroom at home, but it hung on the wall instead of leaning on my dresser, and it wasn't in my bedroom at all but in a living room in a strange house. It was almost pitch dark, but I could make out shadowy shapes of tables, chairs, and other furniture by the slight gleam of the embers in the fireplace. A faint glow was reflected in the mirror, and I could see a small halo of light growing until it revealed itself to be a candle.

I heard a racking cough.

“Can't sleep, Mum,” said a soft little voice. Reflected in the mirror was a little girl holding the candle—the same girl I'd seen by the ocean in my other dream, the same girl in Gareth's photo. Olwen.

I whirled around. The girl saw me, or seemed to see me, at the same moment. Her mouth opened in a tiny O of surprise, and she let out a squeak. She clutched at her silver necklace as though it were a talisman and backed slowly away. The candlelight faded as the little girl disappeared back into the darkness of the house, and I felt myself fading too, sinking back into the darkness of sleep.

13

Dyfal donc a dyr y garreg.

Persistent tapping
breaks the stone.

Welsh proverb

Gareth shoveled mashed potatoes into his mouth, half-listening to his parents as they rattled off a list of rules he was supposed to adhere to while visiting his great-granddad. Who cared whether he had to help weed the garden or go round the shops? He'd scrub toilets if it meant he had a chance to figure everything out.

“ … nine o'clock, mind you,” his dad said. “Are we clear?”

“Of course I'll be in the house by nine o'clock, Dad. There's nothing to do in Cwm Tawel at night,” he pointed out. He served himself another spoonful of potatoes and poured gravy all over them. “What if Wyn's family asks me to stay for dinner?”

His mother raised her eyebrows. “I suppose if it's all right with them. But please, please try not to be a nuisance to Wyn or her family. I know you're excited to meet them, but they're going to be very busy. Her mum told me. And if anything happens to her great-gran … Well, heaven forbid, but they might be grieving, you know.” She looked upset.

“I won't be a bother, Mum,” he said. “I promise. I'll just make sure they have someone to ask if they need anything. Do we have any guidebooks or maps I could give them? I could show them the walking path we took last time.”

“I'm sure they already have plenty of guidebooks, Gareth.” His dad gave him a small smile. “But I'm sure they'd appreciate some recommendations. Do you remember Kidwelly Castle, from our trip last year? They might enjoy that.”

“Murder holes! Murder holes!” Tommy cackled, looking up from his plate.

“Yeah, that's right,” Gareth said. “We climbed all over the place and Tommy got his foot stuck in a murder hole.” He jabbed his brother lightly with his elbow. “I'll make sure to tell Wyn about it. But do you remember where we went over the hols? I think she'd really like that.”

His dad shot him a look. “Not off the top of my head. But it was just off the beach, Gareth. Don't you remember?”

“He was too busy with his phone,” his mum said. Gareth rolled his eyes.

After a moment, his dad added, “We have an old Ordnance Survey map of the coastline there. If you can find it, take it. Maybe there's some GPS app you can download, too. If you go exploring, I don't want you getting lost.”

“Cheers, Dad.” If his parents had a map of the area, then there was little doubt in his mind the cromlech was on it somewhere. Wyn was expecting him to know where it was, and he didn't want to disappoint. Even worse, he didn't want to admit he hadn't really been paying attention the last time—at least, not until he'd lost his mobile.

“Don't worry, I won't bother Wyn or her family,” Gareth added. “But if she needs a friend, at least I'll be there.”

His dad gave him a skeptical look.

“Friend … or
girlfriend
?” Tommy said.

“Honestly,” Gareth began, but then he sighed and gave up on explanations. Maybe after it was all over, he'd tell them everything. At this point, he still wasn't even sure what was going on himself.

The next day, after digging through an old shoebox of brochures and maps in the boot of his dad's car, Gareth triumphantly pulled out a bedraggled copy of an Ordnance Survey Outdoor Leisure Map of the South Wales coast. There were rips at some of the folds, and it smelled musty and ancient. His parents must have used this very same map when they'd taken him out on holiday as a boy; maybe even on their last trip, not that he would have noticed.

At first glance, the map was nearly impossible to read, crammed full of tiny symbols and town names and minuscule
boxes for houses and neighborhoods and farms. Not to mention the parks and footpaths and incomprehensible geographical symbols.

On the other hand, everything was on this map.
Everything.
If he could find Cwm Tawel on it, and the nearby beach, then he could trace all the possible paths in the area. That would give them a starting point for exploration, for finding the gravesite. And then … he didn't know what would happen after that, but hopefully he and Wyn would figure it out together.

Tracing the coastline westward from the Gower Peninsula, he found Swansea on the map, and then Llanelli and Carmarthen, and not far from there, Cwm Tawel itself. The whole area was crisscrossed with trails, bridle paths, cycling paths, and narrow country roads. There was a multitude of sandy beaches, and the area was also positively littered with ancient sites. The historical ruins that dotted the hills and cliffs along the seashore were labeled in a tiny calligraphy font:
Cross, Settlement, Standing Stones, Homestead.
And, to his chagrin, all along the coasts and inland areas too, over and over:
Cairn, Cairn, Cairn
. He didn't see the word “cromlech” anywhere. But the mapmakers would have to note something as large as the one he'd fallen into—perhaps they just called it “standing stones”?

He let out a groan of frustration. Maybe it would be worth it to buy an online map, especially if it was searchable. Or try to find a tourist map when he got there.

He put the map aside for the time being and checked his email. A forwarded joke from Amit; a rather long tirade from Anita about his behavior at the end-of-year-dance. Then a grin sneaked onto his face; there was a message from Wyn at long last.

Dear Gareth,

I'm so glad you're coming. I think my parents are still weird about me meeting you, though.

I can hardly believe I'm here. Everything is really surreal right now. I had a dream about my Gee Gee's old house, so I asked her where it was, but when I went to find it, it wasn't there anymore. Just a block of flats now. But I dreamed about the locket, too, the one Olwen was wearing in the picture you sent. I didn't realize it was a locket in the dream. Not until you said something. It looks familiar … I wonder why.

The museum was closed when I tried to go. Peter Robinson, who works there, was an evacuee as a child in my Gee Gee's house. He has to know something. I'll keep trying to talk to him.

I'll be at the Carmarthen train station with my mom to pick you up on Saturday afternoon.

—Wyn

Gareth felt a prickle of anticipation. It felt like some of the puzzle pieces were finally starting to mesh, or at least like they were on the right track. Maps. Museums. Lockets.
Something had to be significant there. He hit
Reply
and started typing.

Gareth's room was a maelstrom of dirty clothes, clean clothes, waterproof jackets, extra socks, and half-filled baggage. His dad's old brown suitcase teetered on the edge of the bed as he put things in various piles. Meanwhile, he was listening to Amit's ridiculous romantic advice, which he had no intention of following at any time in his life whatsoever.

“Remember what I said about pickup lines?” Amit's voice coming out of the speaker phone was tinny. “Did you get that email I sent? With the list?”

“I assumed that was a joke,” Gareth said.

“I'm telling you, though, they work! Think of how many girls I've gone with just this year.”

Gareth pulled a lightweight yellow windbreaker out of one of the piles and rolled it into a crinkly ball, shoving it into one corner of his suitcase. “I'm not questioning your ability to attract the girls,” he said. “Just your ability to keep them.”

Amit said an extremely rude word.

Gareth laughed. “Hey, when I get back, let's organize a game with Dobbs and them.”

“Are you serious? You, playing football?” Amit asked with exaggerated surprise.

“I meant Halo.”

“Figured,” said Amit. “Still, you could build up some muscle while you're there. Chasing sheep around or something.”

Something about that annoyed Gareth. “There's more in Wales than just sheep.”

“Yeah, there's your American girlfriend!”

“Is that all you can think about?” Gareth packed up several rolled-up pairs of identical black socks and his new dark-blue jeans. He'd miss Amit's usual antics, but he'd only be gone for two weeks.

Would he and Wyn be able to find the gravesite, the cromlech, in that amount of time? They'd have to.

Gareth was sleeping on top of the covers with the windows open when his phone buzzed. He opened his eyes to see the darkness of his room, faintly lit by a yellowish street light. His first thought was,
Something's happened to Wyn's gran
.

He blinked, then fumbled for his glasses and his phone.

When he squinted at the screen, it showed a new picture message.
Unknown Number.

He opened it, his hand trembling just a little.

The photo was a close-up: the girl's worried face, pale and thin, took up the left side of the picture, her eyes dark glittering hollows glancing off to the side. Following the direction of her gaze, he focused on the background landscape: green grass going right up to the edge of a cliff. Whitecapped ocean waves, a sandy beach in the distance. A different angle than the other picture, a view without the cromlech.

After a moment, he realized he was breathing heavily. His hair was damp with sweat.

And then he smiled.

Whatever was happening, whatever strange and frightening things were now a regular part of his life, Olwen was helping him. She wasn't one of those vengeful Hollywood ghosts—he hoped. She'd sent him a picture of where she was.

She wanted him to find her.

Of course, what he'd do then—what
she
would do—he hadn't a clue.