The Runaway Page 26
“Callum said you were stuck, and I thought we’d best find a way out together,” he answers, as if it were the most sensible idea in the world, “but I don’t think we can leave the way I got in.”
The flames have already filled the gap that he crashed through and are towering higher. I know what he has just done is irresponsible to the point of stupidity, and we should probably trust his judgment less for it, but I am glad to see him: I can feel myself smiling involuntarily. There are scrapes across his arms that suggest he has had trouble with one of the dogs, and now his clothes are singed, but he smiles as if we were all perfectly safe.
A shout from Callum catches my attention, as he calls our names through the fire.
“We’re here!” I shout back, not daring to go any nearer the burning thicket. “Are you all right?”
“You need to get out of there!” he calls, sounding panicked. “But I can’t see a way. Don’t worry about Ifan – Tom caught up with him.”
“Find Tom – he can send for help! We’ll keep looking for a way out of this.”
He shouts an agreement through the flames and then he leaves. We stand together with our backs to the mill house as the fire creeps closer. My eyes sting with the thick drifts of smoke that keep blowing this way. I never thought the fence around my land would do so much harm. It was supposed to keep danger away from me, not increase it.
“Rhiannon, is there any wide entrance through this fence of yours? Anywhere the fire couldn’t have jumped across?” asks Grace.
I cannot even bring myself to shake my head as I think back on the repairs I made so carefully each day. I can think of nothing to say when I take in the damage I have done. Adam and Grace have done more good in my life than they can ever realize, and Nia has never done anything to hurt anybody, and these three will be the undeserving victims of my determination to keep the world out. It’s unthinkable. I must not let this happen. Suddenly the decision takes hold of me that I am going to somehow find a way out of this, and I will get these friends of mine to safety, whatever the cost to myself. I look down at my feet, and suddenly the answer is before me.
“The stream!”
“What? You can’t be planning to put out the fire?”
“No,” I laugh, astonished that I’m able to find something funny right now. “The stream runs straight through this bit of land, and I couldn’t build across it properly. There’ll be a gap on either side where it meets the boundary. It might just be wide enough for a person to pass through.”
“That’s our way out then!” cries Adam, and we head in that direction. In the frantic dark, twigs scratch and stones catch at my feet. Nia stumbles once, but finds her feet again as I lead the way to what has to be our escape route. Between trees that will perhaps be nothing but ash by the morning, the four of us follow the stream as it curves around the stone house and leads away from it, eventually to the border of my land, now marked by turrets of flame. Sure enough, there is a gap in the fire where the stream cuts through it, just wide enough for someone to squeeze through, hopefully unharmed.
As I step towards the dark space between the leaping flames, I feel the heat of the fire against my face, the scorching smell that makes me fear my hair is burning. I shrink for a moment from the tongues of flame dancing so unpredictably, jumping out and latching on to anything that might ignite. However, I haven’t forgotten that this was my idea, and the only hope to get us safely out of this blaze. Closing my eyes to the fire’s hypnotic powers, I take a few strides forwards into the stream and between the crackling wood hissing its goodbye to me.
The noise of movement behind me says that the other three are nearby and following. A moment later they are drowned out by the roar in my ears of flames so close to my face. I try not to imagine that my hair or clothes are catching alight, and keep going. When I next dare to open my eyes, the air is just a fraction cooler. I look over my shoulder to where Nia and Grace have already followed me through, while Adam is emerging through the gap.
“We’re out!”
The cry is heartfelt and filled with triumph and relief. With a smile that nobody else will be able to see through the heavy billows of smoke, I continue to walk through the ankle-deep waters while the fire rages on either side, where it has spread to more of the forest. It is still difficult to breathe, so we hurry towards the promise of clear air somewhere ahead of us. When eventually we come to a place beyond the range of the fire, we step out of the stream onto dry ground, shaking glistening drops from our feet, and turn towards the edge of the woods.
Without a word of explanation, I begin leading them through the dark maze riddled with overhanging boughs. There are cuts, bruises and burns to see to, and I cannot fix these things, so I take them towards a place where they can be healed. The walk is slow, but I am leading the way back to the village.
At some time after midnight we reach the end of our slow journey. Staggering up a hillside I never thought to set foot on again, we drag aching limbs that have only just realized how weary they are towards the quiet flickering lights of the village. Far above us, low voices speak distant and indiscernible words from the overlooking streets, but we are silent.
With a restless murmur, the sky lets its heavy burden slip from its grasp. Slowly at first, the raindrops dance over my skin and I laugh quietly to feel them fall onto my upturned face, trickling over dry lips into my mouth. They sting slightly against my parched throat and burned arms. We all stop as we realize we are safely out of the fire’s reach. I fall to the ground with something like the silent laughter of relief, and lie on the grassy slope. Looking to my left and right, I see the others have done the same, and we all rest for a moment here, like driftwood washed up by the tide. The far-off blaze in the forest quivers beneath the rain, and I close my eyes so that I don’t have to see it burn or be doused.
We are found some time later, still lying on the hillside in the rain. I open my eyes to see Callum and Tom standing over us. They help each one of us to our feet and we walk the last stretch together. There’s an ambulance parked in the lane, police cars illuminating the hedgerow with their blue flashing lights. People in uniform march around. Somebody – I do not see who – wraps a blanket around my shoulders, and without quite knowing how I got here, I find myself sitting inside the Evanses’ farmhouse. I remember this place as if from a dream rather than memory. The same kitchen chair wobbles if you lean back, the same Welsh proverb hangs over the door, and the safe smell of being within walls hangs in the air. There are other people in this room with me, some also draped in standard issue blankets, some with cuts bound in white cloth, but all quietly together in this one house.
“What happened?” I ask Callum. He is sitting on the chair opposite mine, his arm bandaged.
“They’re just taking statements now to establish what exactly went on in Dyrys tonight. I’ve explained my part in it all – how I made Ifan angry in the first place.”
“Where is he?” whispers Nia, who sits beside me, looking around the room for her husband. Her hair is drenched in rain so that it clings to her head and shoulders. As she speaks, Tom returns to the house, ducking as ever beneath the low wooden doorframe.
“I’m sorry, Nia,” he says, sitting down near us, “we arrested him this evening, and he will be coming back to the station with us. I know that even after all he did, it will still be hard for you.”
Nia closes her eyes. Tom watches her with concern before turning to me. I wonder what to expect from him: a lot has changed.
“Welcome back,” he says quietly, with a smile. I smile back. Then he glances over to Adam and Grace, and says simply, “Thank you.”
Adam gives a silent nod, and that is enough for now. He begins to get up, but seems unsteady on his legs, though whether through injury or exhaustion I cannot tell. Tom stops him, saying none of us should move until we have our strength back, so Adam asks that a message be taken to Maebh.
Tom knocks gently on the door, not really expecting Maebh to still be awake. But the door is on the latch, and she is in her usual chair in the front room. He hears Maebh’s harsh breathing before he sees her.
“You stayed up?”
“I hoped there might be some news.”
Tom shifts uncomfortably, wondering whether he would have brought Maebh an update if no one had reminded him.
“Maebh, Adam asked me to bring you a message. He said to tell you that Callum and Rhiannon have come back to the village with everyone tonight. And something about history not repeating itself – he said you would understand that bit.”
The old woman’s frail face suddenly breaks into a beam of brilliant happiness; the sort she has not felt in years. All that she feared is washed away into contentment.
“Even after all this time, he can still make me smile,” she murmurs.
“Who?” asks Tom, thinking she might mean Adam, or possibly even Callum.
“Emrys. Always Emrys.”
She sighs, and marvels at her old friend. Then she drifts off into sleep, and dreams of the Sparrow Girl and the Boy Who Shone. In some other dream world, they run like the wind through the springtime forest, and laugh as the carefree children they hardly had the chance to be. The birds fly alongside them and join in their songs, and all that is young and green is their home.
Chapter six
Rhiannon
Something doesn’t seem right. I wonder what can have made me sleep through the first grey strains of dawn. When I open my eyes, I can see that this isn’t the house in which I am used to waking. Its walls are further apart, its ceiling high and painted instead of canopied in ivy and stone. Stranger still, I am lying in a warm bed, with no hard earth to make my bones ache. I realize this is the spare room in Nia’s house. Then I remember.
I remember the fire that will by now have reduced to ash all my food supplies, my sleeping bag – everything I kept at the mill house. It will all be gone. And I am here, back in a house in Llandymna, where I swore I’d never be. I feel almost tricked into it: coming here was the price for leading my friends to safety. I would have liked more time to prepare myself for this. But now that I’m here, I wonder if I’m brave enough to try to stay.
I remember that my arms still have dark smudges all over them because when we reached Llandymna last night it seemed petty to request water with which to wash away the soot and smoke, when medics were rushing around tending to proper injuries, where people had fallen in the woods or had a couple of teeth knocked out by someone determined not to be brought in. I remember that my skin hurts and my clothes are scorched almost to rags. I remember a police officer approaching me and asking questions that made no sense, until Tom interrupted saying that it could all wait until the morning, and told me to go and get some sleep.
I raise myself now to sit upright, which takes some time, firstly because my arms ache so badly and secondly because of the weight of the blankets that are drawn across my legs. I cannot think when I last awoke feeling so warm or well cocooned. I wriggle out from under the pile of covers so that I am free to move around. Outside the animals are clearly awake. I hope Nia has slept in this morning. Maebh once told me that deep sleep can be a time when the body repairs itself, and I think the more restored she feels after yesterday, the better.
Birds are singing outside too. Most likely other people are out there, in the streets and lanes, unless everyone is still as weary from last night as I am. I think of the people who are beyond these walls: of Adam and Grace, of Callum, Tom, Maebh, and Diana. I imagine them wandering around in the morning light, breathing in the fresh air and trying to take in all that has happened, or waking slowly and groaning at their bruises and burns. Perhaps some of them are sitting together at a window, looking out across the charred forest, sharing breakfast and thinking about the day ahead. A jolt of excitement rises up through me as I realize I have only to leave this house to see my friends and family again. They are there, so nearby, and I can go to see them whenever I want!
But maybe not all of them will be glad to see me. After all, some may be angry with me still for the things I said before I left. What’s more, if I had not led Callum back to Ifan last night, there might not have been so much fighting, and if I hadn’t built that wall around my house no one would have been hurt by the fire. Perhaps people will blame me. It is almost enough to make me want to slip quietly out of the village before I’m seen and punished. But not quite, for I know I have to try to make amends somehow.
Slowly, carefully, I get to my feet and walk towards the white painted door. I step out onto the landing as Nia comes walking up the stairs.
“Good morning,” she says.
The moment is so surreal and alien to me that I forget to reply. I stand there on the carpeted floor and say nothing. Nia does not seem to mind.
“I have to go over to Bryndu this morning, to the police station. But I’ve put the hot water on if you want a shower, and there are some spare clothes in the bathroom if you’d like them. They should be about your size. Help yourself to anything from the kitchen.”
Of course. There will be so much to think about this morning, to make myself presentable enough to see people. I start mentally listing the things people who live in houses do each morning, so that I will not forget anything.
Nia goes out and I spend a good hour washing. There is mud under my fingernails, soot on my arms, and bits of dead leaves in my tangled hair. I clean my teeth over the white porcelain sink and study my face in the bathroom mirror. It is a long time since I have seen my reflection, except for in the stream on days when the water was clear and quiet. I think I look different, but I can’t be certain. Maybe I have just forgotten what I look like.
I cover the distance of the landing and the creaky staircase on faltering feet, and tell myself this is because of the tiredness weighing down on me, but I know the truth is I could stride with speed if I wanted to; I’m nervous of what I’ll find when I set foot outside.
Don’t be so silly, I tell myself. If there was a difficult journey to make, surely it was leaving the woods last night and climbing the hill. You managed that. Now all you have to do is walk up to the front door and step out into the sun. In many ways, this is one of the easiest and best journeys you’ll ever make. But it is quiet and cool in here, and though it’s technically part of the village, it still feels disconnected from the rest of Llandymna. In this empty house, I don’t have to face up to anything. There are no consequences or retributions. In here, it doesn’t matter who I am or what I have done. When I step outside, it will matter again.
I quickly scribble a note to Nia, letting her know where I have gone, then make the few paces to the door, not allowing myself to be deterred. This must be done. I open the door, then place my hand against the wooden beam that runs up the side of the doorway and rest against it, looking out.
I spy a shawl neatly folded on the hall chair next to me and decide to borrow it from Nia for this morning. It is a blue-green colour and looks homemade. I wrap it around my shoulders and feel immediately safer to venture out, as if the shawl makes me less exposed to prying glances.
This is as much as I can do, and I have delayed long enough now. It is time to go outside and face everyone.
With a deep breath, I step forwards. It is sunny, for an autumn morning. I can hear dogs yapping to one another somewhere close by. Smoke curls slowly from houses further up the hill, perfuming the crisp air with warmth.
I walk across the fields to the village rather than take the road and risk being seen. I make it to Diana’s house without passing anyone. It looks exactly as I remember it. The front garden is neat, and the path swept clear of debris.
A tiny figure totters around on the grass in front of the house. I stare at this child who has merrily escaped his mother’s sight, and am amazed at how much little Owen has g
rown. He picks up a stone, then drops it, gurgling merrily at the noise it makes on connecting with the ground. Then he notices me watching him, and looks up at me with wide eyes that show no trace of recognition.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” I say sadly, thinking of all the times I protested at being expected to babysit for him.
“Owen! Come back here!” another voice calls, and the boy’s mother emerges. Her eyes fix first on her son, whom she expects to see, and then on me. Her expression of relief transforms suddenly to something less readable.
Diana and I face one another in silence. Then, because someone has to speak eventually, I say, “I’m back.”
She nods, still looking stunned. “I waited up last night for news. Someone said that Callum had come back, and that they thought they had seen you too, but I thought it was impossible. I never imagined…”
I suddenly understand that all this time my aunt has been forcing herself to come to terms with the idea that she may never see me again. No wonder Callum was able to report that she hated people talking about me. The hope of others can be unbearable when you have none left yourself.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “for everything I said… before.”
She nods again, awkwardly, as if acknowledging my apology but unsure what to do with it. At once I see in her face a nervous uncertainty that I never noticed before. Diana seems younger than when I left: less self-possessed, but not like a queen fallen from her proud pedestal; more like an ordinary woman weighing up how gracious to be in the midst of all her emotions.
“I was so rude to you, and so difficult,” I continue, staring at the ground rather than make eye contact for this admission. Still she says nothing, so I look up and press on, “Can you forgive me?”
Finally she smiles. “Of course,” she answers, and she steps forward to put her arms around my shoulders.