ceaseless cruelty and sating her tastes too perverse. She called the earthbound realm her home, her favoured recreation mischief most evil against all humanity, her command fiends of the night and their pestilence.
Mesmerised by charms Lucifer alone found enduringly desirable, her husband fashioned for her a wedding ring of special magnificence in which was set a Stone forged by the fire of infatuation with as much care and affection as one so devoid possessed. Above all else, she cherished this Stone, a token from her twisted and insatiable love, whose wicked intent for humanity outshone even her own, enhancing her power and channelling his hatred. As the sands of time slipped by, her foulness smeared the land, wrought upon generations by their own weak and self-centred desires, exploited to suit her aims. So too, in a moment of inattention, the Stone slipped from her most guarded possession and was lost.
And to this day, she seeks its return, calamity held at bay by her wanderings.
Evil goes not unchecked on the plane of flesh and blood. Ever the Watcher stood awaiting the chance to tip the balance and elevate divine justice in the cosmic order. The Heavens opened and fate intervened – The Watcher retrieved the lost Stone. Like a haven in the tempest, peace from the Crone’s plague was humanity’s reprieve.
And to this day, she seeks the Stone’s return, calamity held at bay by her wanderings.
Thus, the Sacred Trinity was born. Anointed with gifts Ethereal, the three hold civilisation in their ordained embrace: The Watcher, The Warrior, and elevated above all, The Keeper. Blessed by maternal grace everlasting, the fate of the collected peoples is her province, the love of the world in her heart, the heavy burden of a life’s long sacrifice concealing the Stone her existence. Should the Keeper of the Crone’s Stone falter, allowing its return to ruin’s mistress, the chasm of despair will vomit excrement to scourge all who dwell in blissful ignorance, her vengeance the Apocalypse, and forever happiness no more.
And to this day she seeks the Stone’s return, calamity held at bay by her wanderings.”
Grateful to be rid of it, I placed the diary on the table and rubbed my hands together. “Happy days!”
My cheekiness earned me a row of sober frowns. Bea, Fortescue and Mrs Paget had listened avidly, collectively exhaling in relief at the finish. They seemed to view this fairytale with uncommon seriousness.
I was keen to finish this bizarre lesson and impatient to get to the beach. “So, to summarise: Once upon a time, there was a vile Crone who married …” She married Lucifer, really? “Hubby gave her a wedding ring with a specially forged Stone that she cherished above all else. This Crone was truly evil and caused pain and suffering wherever she went on earth.” A question popped to mind. “Was she so vicious because her husband was not able to break free of his prison and be with her? And how did they get together in the first place if he’s trapped … in hell?”
“She despises our species, who flaunt their capacity to love so freely,” Bea said. “She is apart from her husband for eternity, but for a brief window when he summoned her. This separation is their punishment for crimes against heaven, to love each other but not have the freedom to ever be together. He covets her across eternity and she knows he is always watching. Continue please, Winnie, what else?”
“Oh, he must be super pissed she’s lost the Stone he gave her as a wedding gift.”
Fortescue interrupted. “Super pissed? With a vocabulary dependent on such phrases, your proper education has not arrived too soon, Winsome.”
“It’s great to see you too,” I muttered, hurrying on before the lecture had a chance to expand. “This Watcher fellow found the missing Stone and gave it to a Keeper to guard, helped by a Warrior. The Crone has been preoccupied searching down the years and hasn’t really had a chance to cause the usual mayhem. I guess her power is lessened without it?”
“Correct, Winsome. However, not only a Warrior and a Watcher assist the Keeper, who fulfils the task of hiding the Stone in seclusion,” Bea said. “You will recall the Sacred Trinity from the first reading. The Trinity train the novice Keeper and her Warrior, until she claims the Stone in a ritual that occurs on the death of her predecessor.”
“Cool, because it sounds like this poor sucker, the Keeper, needs all the help she can get. This is an interesting story. Where did it originate?”
Fortescue shot Bea a meaningful glance. “It is as old as humankind,” she said vaguely. “The Keeper’s tradition has continued unbroken for over a thousand years.”
“What happens if the Keeper stuffs up and this charmer, the Crone, gets her Stone back?”
“The Crone will first annihilate any who stood in her way. If she obtains the name of a Keeper, both she and her ancestors will be wiped from existence. Nothing would ever challenge the Crone and we can only guess at her wrath and vengeance. Perhaps this time around Hitler would triumph or the Cuban missile crisis end in a nuclear winter.”
“You mean with the Stone, she can travel through time? Change our history?”
“Yes,” Bea continued. “And much more besides. Through the Stone, she channels the full malevolence of her captive husband.”
“Well, the Keeper can hardly be blamed for the Crone’s poor choice of husband! Where does the legend say the Stone is presently?”
“It does not, Winnie. Nor will it. Only the Keeper ever knows where the Stone is hidden. It is the Keeper’s duty to conceal the Stone for as long as she is alive, before the task is taken up by the next in line. The transfer occurs in a Claiming Ritual just before the preceding Keeper’s death, which is the only time the anointed are ever in direct communication.”
I squirmed in my hard-backed chair. “What happens if a Keeper doesn’t want to accept the job? It doesn’t seem like anyone ever asked them.”
“An unclaimed Stone remains the greatest peril. Not only does the Stone call to its mistress, the hateful spirit it contains will smother those who thwarted the Crone over millennia by amplifying their own fears. First in the mind and then, these very lifelike visions war with reality, until they eventually manifest to cause actual harm. If not madness first. An unclaimed Stone is a toxic blight that drains life and destroys with spreading malignancy.”
“Lovely! I suppose then, it’s lucky the Keepers have fulfilled their duties without fail.” Bea looked more uncomfortable than she had throughout this entire lesson. Mrs Paget’s eyes widened and Fortescue cleared his throat. “This witch-demon seems a bit casual with an item so precious to her. How did she lose it?”
“The legend does not say.”
Did I detect a lie? Where on earth had they dredged this myth up from? “Heartening stuff! Why exactly am I reading this?”
“Trust me, Winnie. Its pertinence will become clear soon enough. Now, that’s enough for today. I am sure you would like some time to yourself. To adjust to being home. I ask only that you do not leave the warehouse without Hugo. He is presently downstairs in the gymnasium.”
I gazed at Bea, and no matter how much I wanted to escape the cloying attention, her doubtful wellbeing had me stressed. It was as if they wilted before me. I was reluctant to leave them in case of an emergency, a heart attack or stroke. I had never considered losing one of them before. It was ironic. I’d cursed their intrusiveness into my life countless times in the past, but I’d totally taken for granted what having them around meant to me.
“You know, we don’t have to go to the judge’s party tonight. You really don’t seem up to it. I could make dinner and wait on you all, tuck you up in rugs with hot carob and a menthol rub.”
“Nice try, Winsome,” Bea said briskly. She rose from the table and headed for the door, the others following. “If I am able to attend, given my sinusitis, so are you.”
Sinusitis? I thought she said she had the flu. “Well, what about the risk of contagion? Going out is not a responsible attitude to the health of the community.”
Mrs Paget sniggered, but cut it short when Bea threw her a scathing look. “Do not encourage her, Grace! I am well m
edicated and pose no threat to the health of the community.” Her tone was wry. “Thank you for your concern, Winnie. Very benevolent.”
That purple mohawk seemed my final defence.
Six
The beach was a bust. All I’d achieved by going was a case of sunburn and new heights in humiliation. Bea, Fortescue and Mrs Paget disappeared after our meeting in the kitchen and it seemed pointless to fret on my own about their illness. I’d snuck as far as the garage, congratulating myself on my stealthiness. The celebration was premature.
Hugo waited by my moped, arms crossed over his gargantuan chest, wearing wraparound sunglasses, a baseball cap and his standard uniform of black tee and black army cargos, fitting the intimidating stereotype. For the time being, the arsenal was absent or well hidden.
He stoically held open the door of Fortescue’s Mini, ushering me inside. His presence atomised the last of my guilt over abandoning my sick guardians. I got meagre giggles watching him cram himself behind the wheel – a grizzly bear shoehorned into a lunchbox. A tank seemed better suited to his vehicle of choice.
“It’s not a great idea to laugh at a commando with a knife,” he grumped.
It was all downhill from there – and that was from someone who’d had the misfortune of trooping to the beach with three geriatric minders glowing head to toe in zinc,