Under an Evil Star by Jane Holland

Author:Jane Holland [Holland, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thimblerig Books
Published: 2020-02-26T16:00:00+00:00

A little way around the next bend, they passed an old man and his dog, coming up slowly from the glen. The old man nodded at them, the dog paused to frolic about them briefly, his shaggy flanks and paws still wet from a swimming expedition, and then they were alone again in the stillness of the early evening.

Beside the river in the valley bottom was a grove of rhododendrons, huge and glossy-leaved. On the other side were beeches, some tall and majestic, others leaning at a precarious angle, most covered in moss and ivy creepers.

Along the way, passers-by had tied coloured ribbons to some of the overhanging branches. Some of the ribbons were old and frayed at the ends. Others looked brand-new, their colours still fresh.

Votive offerings, she thought, glancing up at them.

Stella slowed her steps before they reached the river, suddenly alert to something different. The track was muddier there than elsewhere, a clump of wild plants oddly crushed in one spot before the mossy bank. Beyond the bank, she could see brambles parted on either side of a flattened patch, with mud churned up, the damage extending beyond the track for quite a way into the trees …

‘Hold on,’ Stella said, grabbing at Nick’s arm as he would have passed her. ‘Wait a minute. Look at that.’

He turned back, frowning. ‘What are we looking at?’

‘The undergrowth past the bank … It’s all trodden down.’ She prodded one of the muddied, crumpled plants with the toe of her boot. ‘And something’s been dragged through here. Something heavy.’

‘If you say so.’

‘The plants have been crushed further in too. Almost like a mini-track.’ She took a step off the path, and glanced back at him. ‘This is the place. I feel it. Look, there’s water.’ She indicated the rushing river ahead. ‘And we’re fairly low down now.’

‘I thought you said it had to be somewhere holy. Or with offerings, or something. Like the waterfall? That’s further on.’

‘And what are those?’ She pointed to the ribbons tied to branches on either side of the track. ‘Or those.’ Further along the track, a fallen tree trunk, closely studded with embedded coins, had been displayed for tourists. She remembered trying to count them once on a previous visit, and being astonished at how many hundreds of coins had been pressed into the decaying wood. ‘This is it, Nick.’

‘But the waterfall is the most holy place in the glen, isn’t it?’

‘Horary charts can be approximate. I often have to feel my way sideways into an interpretation. The chart led me to St. Nectan’s Glen, that’s all I can be sure of. Somewhere dimly lit, low down, with water, a place of ritual. But this … ’ She stared into the deepening woodland. ‘My instincts tell me to go this way.’

Nick shrugged. ‘If your instincts think it’s worth tramping through the mud to look for a body, who am I to argue with them?’

‘Don’t be such a wimp.’ She climbed the mossy bank that ran along the track, and plunged over it into woodland.

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