Beneath the Hallowed Hill Read Online Free PDF Page B

house and discovered an office across the hall from the front parlor. Maybe she would get to know her aunt better if she looked over her books and papers. She heated a spinach-and-feta pasty in the microwave, made a pot of African rooibos tea, and settled into a sleek but comfortable grey leather chair with a low table beside it. After polishing off her pasty she switched on her aunt’s computer and brought up British Airway’s website. She typed in the flight number, then clicked on the map; Michael’s flight was over the Atlantic. She noticed a pile of papers sitting next to the leather chair. On top lay a note in Cynthia’s handwriting.
    Dear Garth,
    I’ve decided the best approach is to publish the material as a novel. I hesitate to join the throng of channelers, the family would die of embarrassment. In all seriousness, this way the material will be readily available. True sensitives will recognize the veracity of the story. Let’s just hope we can discover how it all ends. Let me know what you think.
    All my love,
    Cynthia
    “All my love,” Anne read aloud. So there was something between Cynthia and Garth after all. Curious, she picked up a handful of pages and started to read.

Chapter Three
    “The time has come to tell you the whole story.” Megan studied the face of the young woman before her. “Afterward, you will go into the hill and find the stones I tell you about.”
    She pulled the red wool blanket tight around her shoulders, resisting the urge to move her chair even closer to the fire. The shears of the weaver goddess hovered just out of sight. So quickly, it all happened so quickly, and she must leave this one to carry on. Caitir was already a mother, true, but not ready to become the elder. Nowadays life rushed by like a tumbled race from infancy to parenthood, and people became elders before they lived long enough to truly know themselves.
    “I wish I could tell you what it was like then. So much has changed, my stories sound like make believe, but I tell you, it’s all true, every word of it.”
    Caitir murmured acquiescence. Megan closed her eyes, but felt the woman studying her. She knew her skin had grown paper-thin, almost transparent, the dark smudges beneath her eyes the only color in her face. She listened to the crackle of the fire, willing it to fill the marrow of her bones and warm her. Where to begin? Her thoughts scattered with the wind blowing through the trees outside. Her chest, fragile as a small bird’s, rose and fell as if she just climbed the Tor.
    A rustle from Caitir made her open her eyes again and she saw her pulling her hands back from the herbs on the table—crocks of yarrow, feverfew and yellow dock. No need for those now. Megan’s fever had abated, leaving behind the chill of November rain, in such a sharp contrast with the unfurling spring outside. Caitir pushed the black kettle out of the fire and sat back, waiting.
    Megan’s blue eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “He was such a glorious man…Govannan. Noble, gifted with the Sight…but this is ridiculous, everyone had the vision then. We were all awake, fully awake—”
    A frown flitted over Caitir’s face. Megan could no longer read her thoughts or feelings. Was it impatience, doubt? She hardly blamed her. How could Megan explain how they lived in Eden, that gleaming city on the shores of the isle of Atlantis? Her lost home. If only she could reach through the veil of years, perhaps she would wake and find herself sitting on her terrace watching the waves, the buzz of the hummingbirds at the riotous bougainvillea loud in her ear…or in the temple awash in the intricate harmonies of their chant, feeling the giant crystal come to life and open to the heavens.
    The disaster—she winced away from the memory of the wall of water rushing to the bare shore—the disaster cut them off so unconditionally Atlantis might be just a story. They called them the immortals now, the fae . She fell into time, but the fae