The Summoning

by Robert Wingfield

  “Er...”

  She blushed. “Oh dear. You must think me a right flax-wench. Oh my Lord, we aren’t actually married, are we?”

  “No, er, no, not really.”

  “And are we lemans?”

  “Lemans?”

  “Sorry, lovers. I don’t know where that word came from.”

  It was Wesley’s turn to blush.

  The girl laughed at him. “We’re strangers really. We’ve not met before, have we?”

  “No...” The words came out in a rush. “Actually, I found you on the mountain and brought you here.”

  “To have your wicked way with me?”

  “No! I saved your life. I wasn’t going to take advantage.”

  The girl regarded her thin body. “I can’t see why anyone would want to,” she said sadly. “Thank you for that. Perhaps you will like me better once I’ve put on some weight. It’s probably best if I sleep on the floor...”

  “No, you have the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor. It’s only for one night. I have to go home tomorrow. Will you come?”

  “Do I have an alternative?”

  “This is where I live,” said Wesley as he unlocked the door to his bed-sit, the following morning. “Sorry about all that time on the bus. I don’t have a car.”

  Aurora followed him into the room. The first-floor flat included kitchen, lounge and bedroom all in the same space.

  The girl stepped past him, and gasped. “Have you been burgled?”

  “No, sorry, it’s a mess. I haven’t had time to tidy up.”

  “Is this everything?” Aurora scanned the room. “Is nothing private?”

  “I have toilet and shower through there.” He indicated a door to the left of the kitchen area.

  “Good, I need to freshen up.” She peeped through the door. “Deus meus!”

  “What?”

  “Do you ever clean?”

  “Sorry.” He had no other answer.

  Aurora took a breath and disappeared into the shower-room. Wesley started unpacking his rucksack.

  After a few minutes, the cistern flushed, twice, and then Aurora was with him. She looked horrified.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “My eyes.”

  “They are beautiful, deep brown. I could lose myself in them...” Wesley blushed.

  “But, they were blue.”

  “You remember that?”

  “I’m sure they were blue.”

  “They were brown when I found you.”

  “You’re right. I must still be confused, or perhaps the shock of seeing how you live...”

  There was a playful smile on her lips, which Wesley missed. “I’ll get stuff for the toilet when I go out. In the meantime, would you like some tea?”

  “I thought you’d never ask...”

  “What?”

  “What is that?” Aurora pointed at something in Wesley’s bag. “That thing, why is it glowing?”

  “It isn’t,” said Wesley. “It’s a family heirloom.” He extracted the Book that had blighted his life, and set it on the dining table. He swept newspapers and crumbs on to the floor to make more room. “Please, sit and have a look, while I make the tea.”

  Aurora was already drawing up a chair. She rested her hands on the cover. Wesley thought he saw a flash as she made contact.

  “I know this,” she muttered. “I know this so well. How do I know this? It fortifies me.”

  “Me too.” Wesley stared at her with surprise. “I’ve never told anyone, but it is like a mobile power supply. It gives me energy, and strength, and keeps me going.”

  “There is something. I wondered how I got off that mountain. I remember I gave up everything to get there, and was totally spent, but when you put your arm around me, I felt stronger.”

  “I’ve never known anyone else to notice.” Mixed emotions ran through him. Was he really linked with this angel? Had he actually found the lady he was looking for?

  Aurora opened the cover of the book, and the words of the first pages danced as though they were alive. Wesley recoiled as she turned towards him, the light reflecting in eyes that were now flashing black. “You lied to me. Hah, Aurora, my arse. My name is Ankerita Leighton-Mynde, and you’re a dead man!”

  Wesley took a step backwards, expecting an outburst. Instead, Ankerita turned the pages of the book, scanning each of the pages, a puzzled frown twisting her features. He wisely kept silent.

  Presently, she spoke. “I see it now. I can see why I was up on the hill. I had a casket, all that remains of the man I loved. I went there to return him to the wind and the air. It was a hard slog to the top, but I could see all the lakes and mountains spread out below me, like a glittering carpet of silver and green. I knew this was where he wanted to be released.”

  “Do you remember anything else?”

  “I hadn’t eaten for so long. I didn’t seem to need to eat.”

  “That is why you were so weak.”

  “I remember the wind tugging at my cloak. I opened the casket, and the dust scattered into the air. It rose in a cloud, and I’m sure it was Richard’s face...”

  “Richard?”

  “My husband. I killed him.” Ankerita’s voice wavered. “And then it blew away, down into the woods below. The mist came down suddenly. I couldn’t see a thing.”

  “It does that up there. You have to be prepared.”

  “I cried. It started to rain. I was soaked and frozen, but I had nothing left, nothing to live for. I had a link with the spirit world through a dagger I brought with me, but even that is gone.” Her face broke into an ironic smile. “I was normal. Five-hundred years away from my friends and home and family. I knew my time was up. I wanted to die there.”

  “And I found you.”

  “And dragged me back. Why didn’t you leave me?”

  “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I could not leave you. I thought you were dead.”

  Ankerita rested her hand on the book again. “I see that you did have to. Despite my misery, I am still needed here. I wonder why.” She closed her eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Wesley looked up sharply as Ankerita gave a gasp. She seemed to have changed. The woman in his room was different, not she who entered with him.

  “Who are you?” she demanded. He eyes bored into his.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Answer the question, villain.”

  “I’m... I’m the guy that got you down from the hillside.”

  “Are you, now?”

  “Don’t be mean. I don’t deserve this”

  She ignored his plea. “Where have you brought me?”

  “To my flat.” Wesley blushed. “You lost your memory. I guess I should have taken you to a police station or hospital or something, but you told me not to.” He blushed.

  “And where are we?”

  He told her.

  “No, I mean, where in the world?”

  “England,” he said, feeling baffled at this sudden change.. “Many miles away from the hills I found you in.”

  “And how did I get here?”

  “We came by coach. You said that you needed to hide...”

  “Did I?” Ankerita scanned the room. “I am having trouble remembering. I touch the book, and some things come back, but others disappear, as though I am trying to grasp a dream... I am pleased that you did not turn me in to the authorities. Perhaps they want me for the murder? You won’t turn me in, will you?” She stared at the man.

  “I’m sure you haven’t killed anyone. Where’s the blood, the murder weapon...? You said you had your husband’s ashes, so it can’t have been recently. There would have been enquiries if his death was a mystery.”

  “Perhaps I imagined it. Maybe the cold has done something to my mind. And you are sure we’ve not met before?” Her gaze fell on Wesley again.

  He looked away, disturbed. “Someone like you wouldn’t be int
erested in me.”

  “No,” she said. “You’re not what I would call handsome; in fact, I would describe you as tall, gawky and with a slightly dazed expression. Odd, but there is something about you that I should like.”

  “Really?” There was hope in his voice.

  “Really,” she said, thoughtfully. “I like you... whatever your name is.”

  “Wesley.”

  “Yes, so you are. And how long have I been here?”

  “I told you, we only just arrived.”

  “And before that, where was I sleeping?”

  “I had only a bedroom at the pub. You were cold.”

  “Then, thou art a churlish, motley-minded lewdster.”

  “Steady on.” Wesley stood up. “I slept on the floor. I could have taken advantage of you, but I’m not like that.”

  Ankerita stood up, knocking her chair over. “Touch me not, lout.” She lunged for him, nails raking towards his face.

  He grabbed her wrists, and held her. She brought her knee up, and Wesley barely twisted out of the way of injury. “Look,” he said, shaking her. “You owe me. I saved your life. You would have frozen to death on the mountain.”

  “You should have left me!” She sagged, dizzily. Wesley caught her around the waist. He dragged her to the bed and laid her gently down, clearing the tangled hair from her face.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I am here for you.”

  “Tired,” she murmured. “Leave me alone.”

  He covered the girl up with the quilt. She had fallen into a deep sleep. He risked moving the hair again, and gently kissed her lips. There was no reaction. He sighed.

  Wesley went to the table and opened the Book. Previously it had all been a jumble of scribbles, but now it seemed to have more in it. He could see that some words were in Latin, others runes, and more in a stylish script that reminded him of the Elvish writing from ‘Lord of the Rings’. All made no sense to him, but they certainly had an effect on his foundling. He closed it and left it there. “What to do?” he said, half to himself and half to the sleeping beauty on his bed. “Shopping. We need bread and milk and teabags, oh and toilet cleaner. Will you wait for me?” There was no answer. He put on his duffel-coat, grabbed a bag and deadlocked the door behind him.

  Twenty minutes later, Wesley returned with ‘essential’ supplies from the corner shop, including a few tins of soup that were on offer, and small tubs of custard. He glanced worriedly towards the bed. The girl was still asleep... or dead. He anxiously took hold of her wrist and checked her pulse. It was strong. She looked peaceful, and did not stir. He pulled the blankets up around her again.

  Ankerita still had not moved when Wesley had finished his meal. He flicked on his computer. There were a few notifications from social media where people had ‘liked’ his photographs from the previous trip to the hills, and an invitation from a stunning Russian girl to befriend him. He checked her other ‘friends’; they were few, and mostly sad-looking men, who even Wesley found a bit pathetic. He deleted the invitation.

  “Olga can wait until Aurora, sorry, Ankerita leaves me... as I knew you will.” He gazed sadly towards his sleeping guest, and then went over and gently shook her shoulders. “Wake up, beautiful.” Only the slight flickering of her eyelids indicated that she was still in this world.

  He loaded up ‘Skyrim’ and slaughtered avatars of bandits and dragons, until his eyes started to droop. Then he made himself as comfortable as possible on the sofa, with his sleeping-bag wrapped around him.

  After an uncomfortable night, disturbed by the seat cushions slipping onto the floor, and the lashing of rain against his window, Wesley eventually fell asleep as first light started the dawn chorus. Some people hated the noise, but he found it relaxing; something to do with the fact that when the birds woke, he would soon have to be going to work, he mused, as he dropped off. Luckily he was still on holiday, so that was alright.

  The rain was still heavy when Wesley gradually regained sensibility. He moaned, and then remembered the girl in his bed. He sat up and found himself looking directly into deep brown eyes. Ankerita was sitting on one of his two dining chairs (the others had broken and been dumped in the general rubbish bin some weeks before) and was staring intently at him.

  “Good morning,” she said politely. “I hope you didn’t mind but I helped myself to some of your bread, and a banana. Tea is in the pot.”

  “Yes, thank you,” he said, absently.

  Ankerita stood up and poured a mug for him. “It’s a bit cold,” she said. “I should make you a fresh one.”

  “No, put the cup in the microwave to heat up. A minute should do.”

  The girl gazed blankly at the machine. “Let me.” Wesley struggled out of the sleeping bag. “Ah.” He stood stupidly as it fell to the ground, revealing spindly legs and underpants, considerably past their ‘use-by’ date. “How are you feeling?” He hurriedly pulled on some jeans. “You slept for ages.”

  “I could be better, but I am starting to remember. I am Ankerita, sometimes called Anna.”

  “Pretty name,” Wesley did up his belt. He took the mug of tepid tea off her and put it into the microwave. “Press this button for two minutes, and then ‘Start’.” He showed her. There was silence while they watched the numbers count down and the cup boil over. He hastily pressed the ‘cancel’ button, and rescued the energised beverage.

  “I think I understand the process,” said the girl. “Two minutes, spill the drink, burn your fingers, curse... So you rescued me?” She sat at the table. Wesley sipped at the overheated tea, and winced as it burnt his lip.

  “Off the mountain. You were scattering ashes.”

  “And trying to die,” she said brightly.

  “Why.” Wesley looked sad. “A beautiful lady such as you should not want to die. You’ve got everything to live for.”

  “I have?”

  “Haven’t you?”

  “Do you want a summary of my life?” Ankerita sighed.

  “Will it help?”

  “Not really; I think it’s very complicated.”

  “And the ashes?” pressed Wesley.

  “My lover and husband.”

  “Two of them?”

  “Not really. They were one and the same, only I didn’t realise it.”

  “That must have been confusing.”

  “Yes, one was from five-hundred years ago, and the other from last week.”

  “I see,” said Wesley, blankly.

  “No you don’t. I told you it was complicated.”

  “But you’ve got your memory back?”

  “Some of it. I can remember up to the mountain, but after that, a blank. You found the Book?” She pointed at the volume, now back on a shelf.

  “It’s been in the family for years,” said Wesley. “We’ve never been able to understand it, but I loved the cover and the sensation of it. It seems to give me comfort when I’m feeling low, and strength when I’m out. There are some great drawings.” He blushed.

  “Yes.” Ankerita let the word drag out. “They are rituals, and how to perform them. What you have here is a spell-book from long ago.”

  “I couldn’t understand any of the writing. What does it do, other than protect me?”

  “I’m little wiser than you” mused Ankerita. “The Book is very old, but it may have been copied from earlier writings, which explains why some of the words are obscured.”

  “I couldn’t even work out what the title is,” said Wesley. “I got ‘Liber’, that means book, but the other word; It looks like ‘Mens’.”

  “Manes.” She spelt out the letters.

  “Manes, like horses?”

  “No,” said the girl patiently, “Liber Man-es, ‘Book of the Dead’, or perhaps better translated as ‘Book of Ghosts’.”

  “Ah.”

  “Did nobody ever ask you about it?”

  “I kept trying to take it to dealers, but every time I started
out, something bad would happen...” he faltered as he saw the expression on Ankerita’s face. “Like, there would be a thunderstorm, or a fire or I would fall down the stairs, or the bailiffs would come and try to take my TV away, mistaking me for the people next door.”

  “Where did you get this book?”

  “My granddad gave it to me. He told me it was to blame for everything, and that I should get rid of it. I tried to dump it in a skip, but someone saw me, and threatened to report me for fly-tipping. Then I put it in the bin, and a man brought it back, saying that I’d made a mistake. He said that a book bound with ‘the skin of a virgin’ was not appropriate for recycling. I hoped he was joking.”

  “He was more astute than thee, I feel.”

  “The last time I tried in earnest, I took it out into the hills with me. I got soaked of course, but the Book stayed dry, despite all that. So I put the tent up and lit a fire to get rid of it. It wouldn’t burn; in fact, I burnt myself instead. I had to go to Casualty to have it treated. Though I tried, I couldn’t leave it behind, because the camper who had called the ambulance packed all my stuff for me, including the Book. I eventually realised that the Book was part of me, and I couldn’t get rid of it. I decided to accept it. It’s been much easier since.”

  “Tell me again, what is your surname?”

  “Leigh.”

  “And they call you Wesley? Wesley Leigh?”

  “My folks had a sense of humour. My sister, Ashley, didn’t escape either. You’ve no idea how much trouble the name has given me. I had a horrible time at school with the bullies. ‘Wes-lily’ they called me, and used to pick on me, just for fun. I can’t even shorten it—Wes... Leigh. Still, I suppose it has amused a generation, but it gets on my tits every time someone asks me to repeat.”

  “Do you have a middle name?”

  “You can probably guess.”

  “Lee, it has to be Lee.” Ankerita laughed.

  He sighed. “No, actually it’s Bruce, but can you imagine what life has been like? I mean, what could be worse?”

  “They could have called you Evan...” Ankerita said helpfully... “or Will.”

  “What were my parents thinking...”