Alisaura
Blue Crack Supplier
It's time I acknowledged my fabulous editor, without whom this story might not have been written (or posted); and even if it had, it would have had a lot more typos and plot holes in it.
Take a bow, Cla re, aka "who-me?"...
... 
And I forgot the disclaimer last time
It's all rubbish, not true, don't know anything about Wales, don't know the band, etc...
end of chapter 10:
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Finally, I had to admit that Ed wasn't there, and he wasn't going to miraculously appear just as I was leaving. Which was a relief, I told myself firmly. I was not in the least bit disappointed.
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Chapter 11:
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The next day, I mapped the section of my field area closest to Ystradffin. It drizzled on and off, but not enough to stop me from working. Consequently, I was freezing and miserable when I got back to the village, and I headed to the pub again, thinking of nothing more than a dirty great big steak and a pint. I had a few papers with me, and was determined to be thoroughly warmed up by the time I finished reading them.
I nearly ran into Ed as I was heading back from the ladies' room. The shock of recognition was followed swiftly by the shock of realising that I'd expected his eyes to be hazel. But they were definitely green. We recoiled slightly from one another. A strange half-smile was playing around his goatee.
"Dr. Erikson," he said formally, drawing himself up. He offered his hand.
"Dr. Evans," I replied, imitating his manner. I shook his hand. Might as well carry on in kind... "I should like to take this opportunity to apologise, in person, for... what happened. Last time." My face was red. Ed was shaking his head.
"Don't mention it, please." He was meeting my eyes, his gaze sincere. I hadn't really believed him over the phone, but now I had no choice but to accept his words.
"At the very least, allow me to buy you a drink," I said, walking to the bar. I did owe him one, after all.
"Well, I won't say no to that," he smiled.
A few minutes later, he was drinking his beer and watching me finish my steak. "I thought you hadn't arrived yet," I said, then immediately kicked myself. I hadn't meant to talk about why he'd come. I'd wanted to avoid that whole topic.
"I've been here for a couple of days, I must have missed you if you've been in here before tonight," he explained. I just nodded and chewed.
Ed's eyes strayed to the papers on the table beside me. "'Deep-sea volcanism and porphyry copper deposits'?"
"Just a bit of light reading," I said. He snorted, and started glancing through the others while I ate, which was something of a relief. It felt rather awkward to be eating while a silent Ed was staring at me.
He was frowning over a paper on the rapid drift of the Indian tectonic plate when I drained the last of my beer. Ed's pint glass was half-empty, temporarily neglected in favour of the article. I had to smile.
"Need anything translated?"
"These things should come with a glossary," he said, giving up and returning to his beer.
"Sorry, I didn't bring my dictionary with me," I said.
There was a silence. It was pretty awkward, as far as I was concerned. Ed just looked at me with those green eyes, and an unreadable expression. Was he waiting for me to say something? At least his beanie was seasonally appropriate again. I looked back at him, as the background noises filled up the silence. Conversation, the crackling fire, a football game on the TV in the far corner. Someone laughing loudly at a joke. Finally I blinked and looked away. I heard Ed sigh.
"It sounds so ludicrous, out loud," he said at last, his voice even quieter than usual.
"It sounds ludicrous in my head," I retorted. He sighed again.
"You're right. But –"
"But nothing." I realised that now was the moment to nip all this mystical rubbish in the bud. "It sounds ludicrous because it IS ludicrous. I have an over-active imagination, and clearly every bad fantasy novel I ever read has been brought to the surface of my subconscious by the stereotypical associations I have with stone circles and ancient Celts and all that stuff. I'm having some weird dreams, but everyone has weird dreams now and then. As soon as I finish this mapping, I'll never come here again, never think about this place again, and it will stop. Simple as that."
I sat back. I hadn't meant to get quite so intense about it, and Ed was regarding me with a small frown.
"I've thought the same things, more or less," he said. "Hyperactive imagination, too many late nights, too much coffee. But it just seems like too much of a co-incidence. Being here, meeting you, seeing the circle... and now these dreams. They're so..."
I cut him off. "There's nothing unusual about that," I persisted. "People always dream about places they've been, or whatever's happening in their lives at that moment. You came here, you dreamed about this place. Nothing remarkable at all."
"It's rather different to be dreaming about this place as it was thousands of years ago." Ed was watching me, and I saw confirmation in his face as he saw me freeze in place.
"It's an old place. I've always been interested in old things, how they begin. It doesn't mean anything," I said, struggling to keep my voice level, and quiet. That fear was creeping up on me again. Fear of what, I couldn't have said.
"Everything means something," he said.
"All right, it means we have had too many late nights and read too many bad novels. It means a few of my neurons are confused. It means my repressed interest in mysticism is choosing to manifest itself in wish-fulfilment dreams. All that classical elements stuff, Earth and Fire and Water. No one really believed in that. It's not true."
"Why can't it be true?"
"Because it can't be!"
"Nobody knows what people believed in so long ago, it could be true."
"Okay! So maybe my imagination coincides with some long-dead religion. That doesn't mean that there really ARE spirits of Earth and Fire."
"No, of course not. But a moment ago, you refused to admit that your dreams had any connection with reality at all." Ed had taken on the maddening air of a debater who knows he's won.
"Possible coincidence," I said. "Not a direct connection. You've heard of Occam's Razor, right? The simplest solution is usually the correct one. What sounds simpler to you? Memories and repressed teenage obsessions, or..."
"Or?" Ed asked.
Or what? I hadn't considered an alternative. The fear began to rise.
"There is no other explanation," I said flatly.
Ed was watching me like a hawk, and there might have been a trace of apprehension in his eyes, as he spoke again.
"I dreamed about a village in a valley near the circle, except there was no circle of stones then, just a ditch, and wooden pillars."
"Stop that," I said. My heart was pounding, and my sweaty hands gripped the dark wooden table.
"I dreamed I was someone else. A man who..." he paused, and swallowed. "Who came to the village. He stayed there, and he met a young woman, the acolyte to the Ritemaster. He was called Ewain, and she was Mag –"
"Stop it!" Instead of galvanising me, fear had rushed through my bones and frozen them solid, immobile. It was not possible. Not REMOTELY possible... My racing mind stumbled onto the only explanation for what Ed had just told me. My eyes raked the pile of papers – the notebook was back in my room.
"You've seen my notebook," I said, feeling colour leak back into my face. "I don't know how or when, but you broke into my car, or the B&B, and read it, and put it back again." I started gathering my belongings. "You've gone to a hell of a lot of effort to play a practical joke," I said harshly, my voice ragged with a tumult of unpleasant emotions. My hands were shaking as I crammed my beanie on my head and scooted to the end of the seat, the papers in my arms. "Congratulations. Ha ha. And goodbye."
I finally looked back at Ed, and was stopped in my tracks by the shock I saw on his face. Shock, pallor, and perhaps some fear of his own.
"I haven't seen any notebook of yours," he said faintly. "I didn't really believe... You've had the same dreams? The same names?"
For several seconds I was caught by the look on his face, the tone of his voice, and warred with myself. I wanted to believe him. It wasn't the reaction I had expected after accusing him of breaking and entering, or of calling him out on a bluff or joke. And clearly, my reaction had not been quite what he'd expected, either.
But down that road were murky depths I was not prepared to plumb. Safer, and simpler, to harden my heart and maintain my answer to Ed's revelations.
"Nice try," I snapped, and walked out.
"Wait!"
I was already out the door. I abandoned my pride and ran back to the B&B.
Once there, I subjected the landlady to an admittedly unprovoked tirade about the security of my room. She understandably got very offended, and I nearly ended up on the street. Chalk one up for Anglo-Welsh diplomacy...
He must have got into the car while I was in the field, I fumed. Never mind that I had my notebook with me at those times. Or maybe I'd left it in the car outside the B&B, and left it unlocked... The possibilities chased one another around the inside of my head for most of that night. The fitful dozes I achieved at intervals were mercifully free of any dreams at all.
The next morning, I made a poorly-received apology to the landlady, and set off for another week of camping on the other side of my field area.
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Take a bow, Cla re, aka "who-me?"...
... And I forgot the disclaimer last time
It's all rubbish, not true, don't know anything about Wales, don't know the band, etc...
end of chapter 10:
--------
Finally, I had to admit that Ed wasn't there, and he wasn't going to miraculously appear just as I was leaving. Which was a relief, I told myself firmly. I was not in the least bit disappointed.
-----------
Chapter 11:
-----------
The next day, I mapped the section of my field area closest to Ystradffin. It drizzled on and off, but not enough to stop me from working. Consequently, I was freezing and miserable when I got back to the village, and I headed to the pub again, thinking of nothing more than a dirty great big steak and a pint. I had a few papers with me, and was determined to be thoroughly warmed up by the time I finished reading them.
I nearly ran into Ed as I was heading back from the ladies' room. The shock of recognition was followed swiftly by the shock of realising that I'd expected his eyes to be hazel. But they were definitely green. We recoiled slightly from one another. A strange half-smile was playing around his goatee.
"Dr. Erikson," he said formally, drawing himself up. He offered his hand.
"Dr. Evans," I replied, imitating his manner. I shook his hand. Might as well carry on in kind... "I should like to take this opportunity to apologise, in person, for... what happened. Last time." My face was red. Ed was shaking his head.
"Don't mention it, please." He was meeting my eyes, his gaze sincere. I hadn't really believed him over the phone, but now I had no choice but to accept his words.
"At the very least, allow me to buy you a drink," I said, walking to the bar. I did owe him one, after all.
"Well, I won't say no to that," he smiled.
A few minutes later, he was drinking his beer and watching me finish my steak. "I thought you hadn't arrived yet," I said, then immediately kicked myself. I hadn't meant to talk about why he'd come. I'd wanted to avoid that whole topic.
"I've been here for a couple of days, I must have missed you if you've been in here before tonight," he explained. I just nodded and chewed.
Ed's eyes strayed to the papers on the table beside me. "'Deep-sea volcanism and porphyry copper deposits'?"
"Just a bit of light reading," I said. He snorted, and started glancing through the others while I ate, which was something of a relief. It felt rather awkward to be eating while a silent Ed was staring at me.
He was frowning over a paper on the rapid drift of the Indian tectonic plate when I drained the last of my beer. Ed's pint glass was half-empty, temporarily neglected in favour of the article. I had to smile.
"Need anything translated?"
"These things should come with a glossary," he said, giving up and returning to his beer.
"Sorry, I didn't bring my dictionary with me," I said.
There was a silence. It was pretty awkward, as far as I was concerned. Ed just looked at me with those green eyes, and an unreadable expression. Was he waiting for me to say something? At least his beanie was seasonally appropriate again. I looked back at him, as the background noises filled up the silence. Conversation, the crackling fire, a football game on the TV in the far corner. Someone laughing loudly at a joke. Finally I blinked and looked away. I heard Ed sigh.
"It sounds so ludicrous, out loud," he said at last, his voice even quieter than usual.
"It sounds ludicrous in my head," I retorted. He sighed again.
"You're right. But –"
"But nothing." I realised that now was the moment to nip all this mystical rubbish in the bud. "It sounds ludicrous because it IS ludicrous. I have an over-active imagination, and clearly every bad fantasy novel I ever read has been brought to the surface of my subconscious by the stereotypical associations I have with stone circles and ancient Celts and all that stuff. I'm having some weird dreams, but everyone has weird dreams now and then. As soon as I finish this mapping, I'll never come here again, never think about this place again, and it will stop. Simple as that."
I sat back. I hadn't meant to get quite so intense about it, and Ed was regarding me with a small frown.
"I've thought the same things, more or less," he said. "Hyperactive imagination, too many late nights, too much coffee. But it just seems like too much of a co-incidence. Being here, meeting you, seeing the circle... and now these dreams. They're so..."
I cut him off. "There's nothing unusual about that," I persisted. "People always dream about places they've been, or whatever's happening in their lives at that moment. You came here, you dreamed about this place. Nothing remarkable at all."
"It's rather different to be dreaming about this place as it was thousands of years ago." Ed was watching me, and I saw confirmation in his face as he saw me freeze in place.
"It's an old place. I've always been interested in old things, how they begin. It doesn't mean anything," I said, struggling to keep my voice level, and quiet. That fear was creeping up on me again. Fear of what, I couldn't have said.
"Everything means something," he said.
"All right, it means we have had too many late nights and read too many bad novels. It means a few of my neurons are confused. It means my repressed interest in mysticism is choosing to manifest itself in wish-fulfilment dreams. All that classical elements stuff, Earth and Fire and Water. No one really believed in that. It's not true."
"Why can't it be true?"
"Because it can't be!"
"Nobody knows what people believed in so long ago, it could be true."
"Okay! So maybe my imagination coincides with some long-dead religion. That doesn't mean that there really ARE spirits of Earth and Fire."
"No, of course not. But a moment ago, you refused to admit that your dreams had any connection with reality at all." Ed had taken on the maddening air of a debater who knows he's won.
"Possible coincidence," I said. "Not a direct connection. You've heard of Occam's Razor, right? The simplest solution is usually the correct one. What sounds simpler to you? Memories and repressed teenage obsessions, or..."
"Or?" Ed asked.
Or what? I hadn't considered an alternative. The fear began to rise.
"There is no other explanation," I said flatly.
Ed was watching me like a hawk, and there might have been a trace of apprehension in his eyes, as he spoke again.
"I dreamed about a village in a valley near the circle, except there was no circle of stones then, just a ditch, and wooden pillars."
"Stop that," I said. My heart was pounding, and my sweaty hands gripped the dark wooden table.
"I dreamed I was someone else. A man who..." he paused, and swallowed. "Who came to the village. He stayed there, and he met a young woman, the acolyte to the Ritemaster. He was called Ewain, and she was Mag –"
"Stop it!" Instead of galvanising me, fear had rushed through my bones and frozen them solid, immobile. It was not possible. Not REMOTELY possible... My racing mind stumbled onto the only explanation for what Ed had just told me. My eyes raked the pile of papers – the notebook was back in my room.
"You've seen my notebook," I said, feeling colour leak back into my face. "I don't know how or when, but you broke into my car, or the B&B, and read it, and put it back again." I started gathering my belongings. "You've gone to a hell of a lot of effort to play a practical joke," I said harshly, my voice ragged with a tumult of unpleasant emotions. My hands were shaking as I crammed my beanie on my head and scooted to the end of the seat, the papers in my arms. "Congratulations. Ha ha. And goodbye."
I finally looked back at Ed, and was stopped in my tracks by the shock I saw on his face. Shock, pallor, and perhaps some fear of his own.
"I haven't seen any notebook of yours," he said faintly. "I didn't really believe... You've had the same dreams? The same names?"
For several seconds I was caught by the look on his face, the tone of his voice, and warred with myself. I wanted to believe him. It wasn't the reaction I had expected after accusing him of breaking and entering, or of calling him out on a bluff or joke. And clearly, my reaction had not been quite what he'd expected, either.
But down that road were murky depths I was not prepared to plumb. Safer, and simpler, to harden my heart and maintain my answer to Ed's revelations.
"Nice try," I snapped, and walked out.
"Wait!"
I was already out the door. I abandoned my pride and ran back to the B&B.
Once there, I subjected the landlady to an admittedly unprovoked tirade about the security of my room. She understandably got very offended, and I nearly ended up on the street. Chalk one up for Anglo-Welsh diplomacy...
He must have got into the car while I was in the field, I fumed. Never mind that I had my notebook with me at those times. Or maybe I'd left it in the car outside the B&B, and left it unlocked... The possibilities chased one another around the inside of my head for most of that night. The fitful dozes I achieved at intervals were mercifully free of any dreams at all.
The next morning, I made a poorly-received apology to the landlady, and set off for another week of camping on the other side of my field area.
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seems like she and Ed have a connection somehow eh... hee hee~!
