The Summoning

by Robert Wingfield

  “Genet?” he asked tentatively.

  “Who else were you expecting; Abbot Hunt I suppose?”

  “I don’t know who you mean.” Francis suddenly felt unnecessarily guilty.

  “Of course not,” said the voice. “You are a Capuchin from the big town, and know nothing of the modern Augustinian way of life. Are you going to stand out there all night?”

  “Are you alone? I should not be with you if you are alone.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m a poor, toothless old hag, with nothing to threaten your chastity. You are at no risk.”

  “So, you are alone?”

  “Apart from my cat, Priah,” said Genet, “who isn’t a ‘familiar’, whatever you hear, but merely a family pet, employed to keep the rats down. Come in, and tell me what you want me to do about the lady.”

  “How do you know...?” Francis pushed his way through the curtain, and stared into the darkness. The hut was unlike the previous one. Despite the glowing embers of a fire in the centre, there was no smoke, simply a scent of honeysuckle and, he tried to place the other, surely not cinnamon, the rarest of spices. He had tasted it in wine at the abbey, but that had been a very special occasion. How could this hovel be scented with it?

  “I suppose you should tell me why you are here.” The voice did not seem to belong to a hag.

  “Do you have a light, so that I can see you?”

  “Of course. I forget that you common people have difficulty in seeing what is right in front of you.”

  A rush was waved across the fire, and it burst into light, brighter than Francis had seen in any torch before. It didn’t seem to be natural, but rather shimmered and glowed, and filled the room with an soft brilliance. Francis gaped as he beheld the woman.

  “Sorry, I might have lied about the ‘hag’ bit,” said Genet, “but people have come to expect that sort of thing. You would never have entered otherwise. No, don’t leave. You have come a long way, on an important mission.”

  Francis tried to avert his eyes from the slim woman sitting cross-legged on a deerskin beside the fire. She was a classic beauty, fine eyebrows, green eyes, small, slightly pointed nose, a delicate mouth and long loose red hair, all of which Francis failed to notice, because she was totally naked.

  “I should not be here,” he stuttered. “I will speak to you from outside.”

  “It’s cold out,” Genet said with a smile. “Stay, sit down. I have a spare goatskin for you.”

  Unholy thoughts about Genet’s existing skin crowded Francis’ embarrassment. He would have left, but found he could not move. He sank to the ground and tried to focus on his own feet. He was not entirely successful, and blushed again as he took in her features.

  Genet laughed. “Forgive me,” she said. “I forgot I had removed my smock. It is for the invocations. You see, in order to perform the charms correctly, I need to keep a clear mind, unencumbered by worldly possessions. You seek the arcane, do you not?”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m a witch,” Genet said, “or what you might think of as a witch; I prefer the word, ‘enchantress’, it sounds so much more genteel, don’t you think. It is my talent to know. I also know that you have come in place of the abbot, because there is another investigation in progress at the abbey, and he cannot leave. You have been told to get advice about how to save the Lady Ankerita?”

  “Yes,” said Francis dumbly.

  “I have given it some thought,” said the witch, “and it can’t be done as such.”

  “As such?”

  “I can give you the tools to save her, but you will have to be patient.”

  “I am a monk,” stated Francis. “Patience is my life.”

  “Good,” said Genet. “Now take these items, which you will need to use, in order to preserve the lady.”

  “Preserve?” Francis felt a nagging tingle in his spine.

  “Don’t worry,” said Genet. “You are dedicated to your mission?”

  “Of course; the lady is my life.”

  “Is that proper? Do I detect you having, what some would consider, ‘unfitting’ feelings for her?”

  “I was tasked by her father to ensure she was treated correctly,” said Francis defensively. “My actions are purely out of duty to him.”

  “I see; you were the family priest after you took up the cloth... Your cause is a noble one, and you will be rewarded.”

  “To see her safety assured will be reward enough.”

  “Of course,” said Genet. “She will be protected... if you follow my instructions. Take these items.” She handed him a small leather pouch. “This is a powerful sedative. Add it to her food. It will put her to sleep, and to all intent she will appear dead. In this way we can fool her would-be murderers. Once they are satisfied, you can effect a rescue, and get her to freedom. Do not worry, she can be revived. You will do that.”

  “I hope you will tell me how.”

  “Hear me out. Here is the second item. This rondel has been crafted from the dagger with which she stabbed her husband. It contains his life essence. She can use that to contact him and atone for her sins. Take it, and give it to her when she awakens.”

  Francis took the weapon gingerly and sipped it into his belt. He felt a vibration from it, which worried him.

  “Keep it safe for when you revive her,” said Genet. “And finally, you will need this.” She handed a cloth bag to him. There was something smooth and round inside. “You can open it, but be careful, or it will break.”

  He drew out a sphere of glass and gave a gasp. Glass was an expensive luxury, only occasionally seen in the windows of rich houses. The sphere probably contained a fortune of it.

  “When you need to find the lady, simply gaze into it,” said the witch. “Let your mind drift, think of nothing; the pictures will come. Try it now? Look deeply.”

  Francis stared into the glass, and relaxed, using the meditation techniques he was trained in. He gasped. He was looking into Ankerita’s cell. The lady looked shockingly ill. He blinked, and the image vanished.

  “You saw?” Genet smiled, gently.

  “I have to get back.” He slipped the ball into its bag. “Is that everything?”

  Genet folded her arms. “That is all I have been asked to supply. You have payment for me, from the abbot?”

  “Here.” Francis handed over a pouch.

  Genet tipped a pile of gold coins into her hand and started sorting through them.

  “I didn’t know peasants could count,” Francis said.

  “I can, and perhaps I’m not exactly a peasant...” Genet’s face clouded. “I can count, and I think that there are fewer coins here than we agreed.”

  “I thought you hadn’t seen the abbot.”

  “We have spoken,” she said. “I didn’t think he would try to deceive me.”

  “Perhaps it’s a mistake,” said Francis. “I will get the rest.”

  “No.” Genet was scowling. “I see that he always intended to cheat me. I shouldn’t let you leave.”

  “But, my lady will suffer if I don’t take these things back.” Francis drew out his own purse, and added what few coins he had, to the pile in front of the witch. “That is my life savings,” he said.

  “And you have nothing more?”

  “You have it all.”

  Genet was silent for a while, and then sighed. “You have given me everything ,” she said. “Far more than the abbot parted with. That is true devotion. I grant you your boon, but no one cheats Genet, the Enchantress of Siwaldston.”

  The monk looked uncertain. “Are you sure? I do not want to be party to what is effectively theft.” He made to return the items to the witch, but she pushed his hands away.

  “As it be, Brother Francis,” she said, “you already hold the items. What can a mere weak peasant girl do against a strong man such as yourself to retrieve them?” Genet gave Francis a look that made a shudder run through his body... and oth
er parts. His eyes rested on her breasts. She grinned at his obvious discomfort. “Fear not, good friar,” she said. “I will spare you further temptation. You may leave with all the objects. Tell the abbot that I noted his modification of our agreement, and that you took the items despite. He will be punished for his duplicity, but I will not see the lady suffer any further on his account, especially as the alignment of the planets is perfect, this eve.”

  “You will be blessed in Heaven,” said Francis gratefully.

  “Yes, yes, you may leave.” Genet dismissed him with her hand.

  Francis scrambled gratefully to his feet. She smiled at him, but it was a cold smile, her lips were tight. In his haste to leave he did not notice. As the door cloth fell into place, Genet stared back into the fire.

  “Ah.” The monk was only a few steps away from the hovel when he realised he had not asked how to use the powder in the pouch, and in what dose. He retraced his steps to the entrance. “Genet...” His voice died as he moved the curtain. The hut was cold and dark, and empty. All traces of the woman had vanished, but in the darkening sky, five bright stars formed a line on the horizon.

  4. The Book

  Present Day

  W

  esley dragged the girl to her feet. After her initial reaction, she did not seem to know where she was, and only struggled feebly, muttering in a mixture of French and what he took to be Italian. He put his arm under hers and tried to lift. She came up easily, and he muttered into her ear. “Can you hear me? What’s been happening to you?” There was no reply.

  Wesley was tall and wiry, but not over-strong, even with the Book fortifying him. Despite that, he easily supported the girl. Her feet dragged on the turf as he raised her, and then she came to life. They slowly descended together, he supporting her around her thin waist, and her stumbling, but mostly under her own power. The mist cleared partially as they approached the valley at the bottom of the hill.

  “Would you like to come back to my room?” Wesley stopped and regarded the blank expression on the girl’s face. “Sorry, that seems stupid under the circumstances. Of course you need shelter and warmth. You have to be dried and washed too. How do you feel? Should I call an ambulance?”

  “No.” The word rasped out.

  “Or the police? Has someone hurt you?”

  “No, no police.”

  “My room?”

  “Leave me.”

  “I’m taking you to safety. You need shelter, and food. You must be starving.”

  The girl relapsed into silence.

  The pub Wesley was staying in was not far into the hamlet. The girl clung to him as they staggered slowly along, and eventually they sighted the welcoming lights of the place, glowing through the mist. Secretly, Wesley was glad of the fog. It hid the fact that he was taking a young lady to his room; he had only paid for a single. This was not something he was used to. His life, so far, had been sheltered, and consisted of: his job, eking out a small salary, and trying to count how many dragons there were in Skyrim, the fantasy land in his beloved computer game.

  They made it inside without being challenged. Wesley heaved the girl up the back stairs. The room was warm after the damp of the evening. He laid a bath-towel on his bed, and lowered the girl on it. He wondered what to do about her sodden clothing. As a desperate shudder of cold ran through her thin body, he knew. The room had an en-suite bath. He must put her in the water, and warm her up. The clothes she wore would have to be dried before they could go back on. He went into the bathroom and ran some warm water, then returned to see if the girl had stirred. She was shivering violently, but still did not respond to his questions.

  “I’ve got to get these wet things off, or you’ll get pneumonia.” Wesley had no idea if she could catch pneumonia, but that was what people always said when someone got wet and cold, so it would have to suffice. He dragged her to the bath and carefully started removing her dress. She did not resist. The pale body underneath was drawn and icy cold. He felt he should have been aroused at her nakedness, but he concentrated on the necessity. Her recovery was paramount.

  He carefully lowered her into the water. It was not hot, but she shuddered, and cried out as it contacted her skin. He knew that feeling; when you were very cold, even lukewarm water felt burning hot. He touched the outside of her slim leg under the water; it was still cold.

  “I’ve got to warm you,” he said, hoping the girl knew what he was doing, and that his intentions, for now at least, were honourable. He ran more hot water, added some of his shower-gel to make a few bubbles, and gradually raised the temperature of the bath.

  After a few minutes, the water level was up, and the bath reached a comfortable temperature. The girl’s leg was still cold to the touch, but the blue in her face was slowly changing to a more healthy pink. The bath was too small for her to slip under the water, so Wesley left his charge for a short while, to collect her clothes, and rinse them in the sink. He squeezed out what water he could and draped them over the radiator to dry. Again he was grateful that the owners of the pub had decided to put the heating on—it must have been specifically for him, because as far as he knew, he was the only guest, this late in the season.

  Wesley returned to the bathroom. The girl looked more healthy, and he ran in some more hot. Where she was above the water, her flesh was still cool, and now he let his gaze rest on her upper body. Her breasts were not big, but a perfect shape, and even where her collarbone and ribs could be seen, the skin across was pale and flawless. The lady was perfect in his eyes, unused as he was to the female, in forms other than on his computer screen.

  “I’ll do your hair.” As Wesley expected, there was no reply, so he took the shower attachment and sprayed warm water on her head. There was a lot of hair. He used the whole of his complimentary shampoo to get a lather. He was gently rinsing it off, when his hand was suddenly gripped.

  “Where am I?” The girl’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

  “Safe, in my room,” he said tentatively.

  “Good,” she said. “They mustn’t find me.”

  “Who?” Wesley continued spraying water on her hair. “Hold this over your eyes.” He gave her a facecloth. She regarded it, but made no attempt to take it from him. He gently clamped it over her nose and eyes, and lifted one of her hands to hold it in place. “Hold it for me.”

  “I can’t remember,” said the girl, through the material. “Who are you?”

  “Wesley, Wesley Leigh.”

  “Strange name,” she said. “I don’t know it.”

  “Can you recollect anything up on the mountain? What were you doing there?”

  The girl shook her head. “Up the mountain? I can’t remember. Are you my husband? I must have been there with my husband. It is only seemly.”

  “Sort of,” he replied guiltily, his mind whirling. Was it her husband who had left her for dead? This was getting more complicated.

  “Good,” she said. “That would explain why I’m naked in a bath, with you washing my hair. If there was any other reason, I would have to kill you.”

  “Why?” Wesley asked, guiltily.

  The girl shook her head again, dumping the face-cloth into the water. “I have no idea.”

  “Tell me, what is your name?” Wesley finished rinsing, and passed her a hand towel.

  “I am... do you know, I can’t remember who I am; what happened? Have I been hurt?” She brought a slim leg out from under the water and inspected it. “No bruises,” she said. “What happened to me?”

  “You were alone on the mountain,” said Wesley. “You would have frozen to death.”

  “Where were you?” Ankerita stared at him, as though inspecting it for duplicity.

  “I found you.” Wesley was feeling very uncomfortable as to where this line of questioning was heading.

  “I must have fallen and banged my head, and you rescued me. You can tell me my name, can’t you?”

  There was a pause while Wesl
ey wracked his addled mind for a name, any name. “You don’t know?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “Aurora,” said Wesley, choosing one of the characters from his game.

  “Pretty name,” said the girl. “I like it.”

  “Just as well,” said Wesley, with relief.

  “Isn’t it?” She brightened up. “I’m famished. Can we get anything to eat? Oh, and you can find me some clothes. I’m not going around like this.”

  After a good meal in the bar, Wesley and the girl sat beside the fire. Aurora sipped a gin and tonic, which Wesley assured her was her favourite, and he tasted a pint of the local ale. He had risked holding the girl’s hand. She didn’t complain, and was gazing absently into the flames.

  Wesley’s visitor had been rumbled straightaway by the landlady, but she said she was not bothered, and told him that the room charge could stay as it was, as long as he paid for the extra meals. “I love a bit of romance,” she said. “Seeing you two together reminds me when I was young. I was as slim as that, once. All the village lads were in love with me.” She regarded her homely figure, and sighed. “All gone away. Sometimes I miss the old days.”

  “Bedtime,” Aurora finished her drink, and stood up. “I suppose you’ll be wanting your manly pleasures from me, seeing as you said this is our last day in the wilds.”

  “Er, that would be lovely,” Wesley said, hesitantly.

  “I’m still feeling rather weak,” said Aurora, “but I expect you will know what to do.”

  The landlady grinned at the obvious awkwardness between them. They said their goodnights, and Wesley followed the girl up to their room.

  Aurora disappeared into the bathroom and came back, smiling. “I borrowed your toothbrush,” she said. “I don’t seem to have one.”

  “I’ll go and do mine.” He slipped past her.

  When Wesley returned, Aurora was already in bed. She watched him as he took off his shirt. “You need a few good meals yourself,” she observed. “Come on, everything off.” She pulled the duvet back. Wesley gaped. “You’ve seen it all before,” she said suspiciously, “haven’t you?”