The best form of defense isn't to attack; it's to distract
. Dad's advice from years ago echoed inside Todd's head.
"Mrs. Turpin said I look like Dad."
Grandpa glanced up from wiping down the table, his expression lightening with interest. "You spoke to Ruby?"
"I was up that way today. Marigold showed me the workshop where they make the corn dolls."
"Umm." Grandpa rinsed the cloth and squeezed it out. "Those blessed dolls get everywhere," he mumbled. He put on the kettle. "I'm glad you've made friends with Marigold. Spend some time with her. That should keep you out of trouble while you're here."
Was Grandpa joking? Spending time alone with Marigold was
not
what Mum would call keeping out of trouble.
"Did Mrs. Turpin like Dad?"
Grandpa busied himself getting out cups and making a pot of tea. "They were childhood sweethearts."
"Dad and Mrs. Turpin?" Todd would never have guessed from her attitude. He imagined Dad in the witch's cottage with Ruby Turpin, and found that he could—all too easily. His father would have been right at home in the old stone cottage, working in the garden, the ancient woodland outside his back door. "What went wrong?"
After putting two cups of tea on the table, Grandpa sat down with a weary huff. "Ruby broke it off between them. Your dad went away, met your mum. The rest's history."
So why was Ruby frightened of Dad? When she'd told Todd he resembled his father, the comment had sounded like an accusation. He'd made her nervous. She'd kissed her fingers and touched the Green Man's face as if for protection.
"Grandpa, there's a carving of a man's face in the stone above your shop doorway."
"The Green Man." Grandpa smiled and slapped Todd on the shoulder as if he'd said something clever.
"I've seen a few around. What do they mean?"
"Symbols, lad. The face represents an ancient Celtic god. He has many names, the Green Man, Lord of the Wildwood, Lord of the Hunt, Cernunnos. People in rural areas have worshiped him for centuries. He's the guardian of the forest and the patron of agriculture. Before I sold the farm and bought the shop five years ago, I always made sure I paid my dues to the Wild Lord."
"Sounds like something out of a computer game." Todd laughed. "Next you'll be telling me there are fairies and elves up in the ancient woodland."
Grandpa's smile dropped away. "It's no joke, lad. You'll do well to remember that. There are many around these parts who still take the Wild Lord seriously."
The grave tone of Grandpa's voice killed Todd's laughter. The older man was obviously one of the believers.
Grandpa went into the sitting room and fetched three hardback books from a cupboard. He put them on the table in front of Todd. "I've been meaning to give you these. They were your dad's."
All three books were about the Green Man. Todd flipped through them one by one. Along with chapters on the history and worship of the god, there were many pictures. Some similar to the carvings he'd seen around the village, others more elaborate. One photograph of a painting from a Cathedral showed a gruesome image of branches and vines sprouting from a man's body while he screamed in agony. An icy finger slid down Todd's spine. He flipped over the page quickly only to find another disturbing image of a man wearing the head of a dead stag, complete with antlers, on his head like a crown.
Carefully inscribed inside the front cover of each book were foreign words, followed by his father's signature. Below the name, his father had drawn a small pencil sketch of the stone face.
The whispered words Todd had heard in the wood when he found the standing stones echoed in his mind and took form in his mouth. His lips moved in time with the sound while he read the same words inscribed in the books years ago by his father.
Pointing at the foreign words, Todd asked, "What does this mean? What language is it?"
Grandpa leaned across the table to see, then shook his head. "I asked your father that question when he wrote it, but he never answered. I think it might be ancient Celtic—maybe the Cornish dialect."
"How did Dad know ancient Celtic?"
A faraway look filled his grandpa's eyes. "Your dad was always a mystery, lad. I raised him, but even I never really knew him."
***
After Todd's early morning run the following day, he went home to study the Green Man books over breakfast. Grandpa was already busy in the shop, so Todd wasn't disturbed as he settled down to read the first book.
The Green Man is considered by some to be a modern representation of the Celtic god, Cernunnos. Many images of the Green Man can be found around the world associated with different cultures and religions. In Great Britain, depictions of the Green Man are numerous in wood and stone, in ancient villages, churches, cathedrals, and abbeys. They represent the spirit of nature, the cycle of birth in the spring and death in the autumn. The horned god is thought to die on October 31
st
at the pagan festival of Samhain and be reborn on the Winter Solstice, December 21
st
.
Carvings and depictions of Cernunnos as horned god or Green Man have an eerily mysterious quality that over the centuries has inspired both fear and awe in the common man. Many have worshiped the deity, especially in rural areas where superstitions and belief in the supernatural are more prevalent.
The earliest representation of the Celtic horned god Cernunnos dates from the 4
th
century BC. The most famous artifact to identify Cernunnos is the Gundestrup Cauldron found on Jutland (Denmark), dating from the 1
st
century BC.
In depictions of Cernunnos, his most striking feature is his stag's horns. He is normally shown wearing a torque, a sacred neck ornament used by the Celts to signify nobility. Cernunnos is usually portrayed with a stag and a ram-headed snake. Because of his association with animals, he is referred to as the Lord of the Hunt, the Lord of Animals, or the Lord of Wild Things. He is considered to be the guardian of the forests and the protector of nature. He is a source of deep natural wisdom and masculine creative energy. In Celtic rituals, he is often paired with a female deity. He represents the masculine energy of the universe, while the goddess represents the Earth mother.
Cernunnos is thought by many to be synonymous with the horned god who is responsible for carrying the souls of the dead to the underworld. He is also known as the Wild Lord or the Old One. In some depictions, he has two small faces on the back of his head to signify he is tricephalic, three-headed. This may indicate the divine entity known as Cernunnos also has two other godly faces he shows to the world. Cernunnos himself is associated with birth and the energy of life, but another facet of this being, another face, is associated with death and decay. The third face remains a mystery, but may be the most powerful of the three. Some authorities speculate that the third face is that of the omnipotent being to whom all other gods defer, the Master of Eternity.
The blood buzzed in Todd's ears. An unsettling premonition of something just out of reach fluttered on the edges of his mind. He didn't know if Cernunnos was connected to Andrew's death, but the Green Man faces around the village were definitely connected to Todd's father.
All three books were at least fifteen years old. Todd wanted up-to-date information on worship of the Wild Lord. He also wanted to translate the Celtic symbols his father had written in the books. He needed to visit Shaun and use his computer.
When Todd walked out onto the main street of Porthallow, the first thing he saw was the silver Mercedes sports car parked outside the art gallery, blocking the sidewalk and partially blocking the narrow road. A woman with a baby in a stroller and a little boy holding a bucket and spade had to cross to the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street to get past.
Not eager to meet Shaun's father, Todd was about to walk down to the beach to kill time until the man left, when he noticed Picasso squashed in the gap between the car and the buildings, scratching at the art gallery door to get inside.
"Hey, there. You been shut out, boy?" The dog turned to him, his whole body wriggling like a fat sausage as he wagged his tail. Todd crouched and rubbed behind Picasso's ears. "You're really pleased to see me, you silly old thing. Are you lonely? How long have you been out here?"
Through the shop window, Todd saw Shaun and his father arguing at the back near the studio door. Shaun looked red in the face. He stood almost nose to nose with the older man. Their raised voices reached the street and they weren't holding back, hurling abuse at each other. Picasso whined and pressed his nose to the glass.
Todd straightened, growing increasingly uncomfortable with what he saw. It was clear neither man was about to back down. He was shocked by Shaun's angry snarl and his aggressive body language. It wouldn't be long before one of them threw a punch. This was a side of the laid-back artist he hadn't expected. Rage vibrated in the air, and hit a place deep inside Todd. Instinctively, he acted to deflect the threat.
He pushed open the gallery door. Picasso hurtled through, claws clicking and skidding on the polished floorboards as he raced towards Shaun. Shaun's gaze swung around to the dog and Todd. He blinked and the tense lines bracketing his mouth faded. Shoulders slumped, he stepped back. "Get out!" he shouted at his father.
Shaun's father held up a finger. "We're not finished with this discussion." Picasso showed his teeth and growled.
The man straightened his gray suit jacket, gave Picasso a dirty look, then strode out past Todd without glancing at him.
"Oh, man, he always gets to me." Shaun scrubbed both hands over his face. He grabbed a cold chocolate milk from the fridge, ripped open the top, and chugged it down without bothering to unwrap the straw. He paced back and forth across the studio, clenching and unclenching his empty fist. "I need to hit something."
Todd dropped into the ratty armchair and waited for Shaun to calm down. "Want to talk about it?"
"No!" Shaun hurled his milk carton towards the bin and missed, spattering chocolate drips up the wall. "I want him to spontaneously combust and disappear. He always knows just how to push my buttons, the jerk."
"Did he give you the black eye?"
Shaun stopped pacing and gaped at Todd. "No way, man. That was Andrew Bishop."
Todd tensed, immediately alert. So Shaun hadn't fallen over his dog like he said. "Why did Andrew hit you?"
Shaun pulled the band out of his hair and combed the dreadlocks with his fingers. "Cause he's a jerk—was a jerk."
"Did you hit him?"
"Listen." Shaun rounded on Todd, his hair loose around his shoulders, and pointed to his nearly healed eye. "This happened way before Andrew took a dive off that cliff. I didn't push him."
"I'm not saying you did." Todd's chest tightened. He did not want the murderer to be Shaun.
Shaun dropped into his chair and rested his head in a hand. "A few days before you arrived, I was walking Casso up near the woods. I caught Andrew harassing Marigold. He had her pinned against a tree." Leaning back wearily, Shaun rubbed his eyes. "I don't know if he was just messing with her, or if he really would have done something bad. I pulled him off her and made sure he understood what I'd do to him if he tried it again. The stupid idiot took a swing at me, but I didn't hit him back."
Everything inside Todd stilled. The scene Shaun described played out in his mind. If he'd been the one to find Andrew hurting Marigold, he
would
have hit him. Todd remembered to breathe again. The frozen fist clutching his guts tightened with each painful breath. He tried to imagine how Marigold had felt. No wonder she hated Andrew.
With a labored breath, Shaun stood, tied back his hair, then fetched something from the shelf. He handed Todd the binoculars. "Look there, in between the eyepieces."
Todd pushed the straps aside and read three initials scratched into the metal. AJB. His gaze flew up to Shaun. "These aren't Andrew's?"
"I think so." Shaun sat again and fiddled with a paintbrush. "The morning you found Andrew's body, I walked Casso early. The binoculars were near the path that runs down beside the woods. Didn't think anything of it at the time. Just thought a tourist had dropped them." He shrugged. "No way of knowing who, so I picked them up."
"Was there anything else that made you think Andrew had been there?"
"The bushes beside the path were a bit battered. Picasso found the binoculars when he was rooting around. Come to think of it, he was really excited about the smell. I thought he had an animal trapped down a hole or something. That's what made me look."