Prophesy: The Immortal Witch (17)

Part 16 at: https://www.abctales.com/story/marandina/prophesy-immortal-witch-16

The stone walls of St Bridget’s stand in silence as though stoical sentries. The camber of a rural roadway close by slowly sinks, the years seemingly swallowing the edifice; subsuming it through imperceptible subsidence.

Vicar Gleeson thought about the day ahead, the call of wood pigeons in elm trees a subliminal distraction. Glancing up at blue skies, her pace quickened, bustling onwards whilst pondering a ‘to do’ list. There was a sermon to write, a wedding and a funeral to prepare for and some house calls to make to old and infirm parishioners that she looked in on from time to time. Days like today were ones to live for, she reflected. How lucky she was living on the coast.

Religious vocation had called to her many years ago although the notion of a female priest had met with public consternation when she had first commenced her calling. Nowadays, nobody blinked an eyelid. A relatively uneventful life allowed her to drift on its surface like devout flotsam.

Focusing on the horizon, she mentally noted the degree of the sun on its diurnal arc estimating that lunchtime neared. It was an easy enough validation when wearing a watch but the game was worth playing; a trivial pursuit that went with the serenity of a sunny day.

As mundane as her routine could be for the most part, there was a meeting due that was out of the ordinary arousing a curiosity in her that hadn’t been felt for a while; maybe not since her university days at Oxford where she specialised in Asian and Middle Eastern Studies.

She stood in front of the ornate wooden doors of the church and looked out at moss and lichen-coated gravestones that poked out of the ground at haphazard angles, victims of the ravages of time.

The noise of footsteps broke her reverie.

“Ah…Vicar Gleeson, I presume.”

The woman of the cloth noted the lithe nature of her visitor’s gait, a detectable bounce as the woman walked towards her. It was slight but apparent.

“It is indeed. But please call me Sally. The Church tries it best to be less crusty than it used to be” The tone was chipper, almost musical; a warm welcoming intonation in keeping with a rural West Country timbre. The reassurance came with a faint smile and a gentle handshake.

“I take it you are Professor Potter of Bristol University?”

“I am and that’s good to know. Of course, the dog collar and you standing in church grounds is a bit of a giveaway. It’s nice to meet you.” Nadeem’s intonation lilted with each word, her accent carrying a faint resonance from the Middle East that the vicar couldn’t place. A black clerical shirt and casual cotton trousers had also made the identity of the vicar obvious even if she wasn’t entirely sporting the formal attire of a practicing minister.

“It’s such a lovely day and it seemed to be easier to meet here. My house is only a short walk and we can chat as we meander along. Is that OK?” An untidy bundle of paperwork was clamped under the vicar’s arm.

“That’s a civilised notion. Let’s stroll and I’ll tell you more.”

Nadeem found herself wondering what constituted the day-to-day profile of a reverend in the current climate. The woman appeared to be in her forties, married according to the small diamond ring on her finger, was attractive with cropped brunette hair and pretty facial features with a fulsome figure that, in itself, was appealing rather than denoting any loss of care for her looks.

The vicarage was a five minute sojourn during which time Nadeem filled in as much background as she could: Two youths had found an ancient manuscript and brought it to her indirectly via a chain of people leading back to the girl’s mother. She had no previous interactions with the group. The book was written in Ancient Hebrew, a Canaanite Semitic language that was of particular interest at a scholarly level. She had received a recommendation from a colleague on campus that the custodian of St Bridget’s might be able to cross reference and validate a translation.

By the time they were both ensconced around a kitchen table, the exacting heat of the sun had left them thirsty. Black tea proved preferable to plain water despite the temperature. Vicar Gleeson filled a kettle, turned it on and sat down again against the backdrop of an electric hum.

Whilst attending to drinks, a weathered leather volume was placed on the teak surface.

A clicking noise signalled that the water had boiled prompting a return to the sideboard and the pouring of hot drinks.

“It’s nice to see good old-fashioned tea bags in cups. None of that pot and cosy stuff.” Despite the shared nature of the task in hand, Nadeem still felt a little uncomfortable with her new research fellow. The reason for the unease eluded her.

“So this is the source of all the speculation.”

Before touching the tome, a pair of special gloves was slipped into the vicar’s waiting hands. Lifting with palpable deference, Gleeson stared carefully at the cover tracing crenulations with her gloved finger tips before moving on to the contents inside.

 “This looks like a grimoire of some kind. I can see references to spells. There’s also a narration - someone’s story. I know you said you have a rough translation for some of the pages already. Do you mind if I read through it?”

Vicar Gleeson’s heart was pounding with excitement. At this moment she wanted nothing more than to shut herself away and gorge on the leaves of manuscript that harboured ancient history and who knew what else. The reality was that she had only had a couple of hours available before her next duty was upon her.

“I can’t really abdicate responsibility for it but I’m happy to wait while you work through it. I’ll just sit in the lounge and admire your beautiful garden for a while.” The lounge beckoned with its beige sofa and patio doors that gave a view of a mown lawn and flower beds leading to apple trees. 

“Before I start, esoteric artefacts like this have been known to be associated with strange incidents even whilst simply perusing. May I ask if anything untoward has been reported since its discovery?”

Nadeem went cold as she recalled the rain coat wearing man in the library. Wrestling with her conscience, this was an unexpected dilemma. Should she disclose the skeletal interlude at the risk of sounding delusional?

After a few seconds and a shallow intake of breath:

“As far as I am aware, there’s nothing out of the ordinary involved other than its contents.” She felt a twinge of guilt and no little shame, unsure as to the reason for the deception.

For the next couple of hours, Nadeem flitted between messages on her phone and a book about the history of the Holy Lands she had squirrelled away in her bag. Occasionally, she would look up and her eyes would rove over to the table where the relic was being examined. She could see notes being scribbled onto paper.

Having lost track of time, she was taken by surprise by a figure looming over her holding something in the air.

“I have to go. Other duties to perform. The church is a demanding mistress. I have gone through some of the text. I suggest we meet again in the morning and I’ll try and finish what I’ve started. Once I’ve gone through it all I would suggest a phone call having allowed me time to pull everything together. We can then compare findings if that helps.”

“Yes....yes, of course. You have my number. Shall we say 9am? I have free time until noon.”

Gleeson pondered her schedule.

“Yes, I’ll see you here then.”

“I do appreciate how busy you are being a woman of the faith and all that. Thank you for today.”

With that, they parted ways like a latter-day Red Sea.

Part 18 at: https://www.abctales.com/story/marandina/prophesy-immortal-witch-18

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