Master of the Scrolls

by Benjamin Ford

  ‘At last!’ he cried triumphantly.

  Suddenly, from the table behind him, the telephone rang discordantly in the stillness of the stuffy room, and in his immediate state of fear at the unexpected, unnatural noise, Samuel dropped the book, cowering in the middle of the room.

  ‘What manner of beast makes such a noise?’ he whispered to himself, struggling to throw aside his wretched fears. He was Sawyl Gwilym, all-powerful Warlock – nothing should terrify him, yet here he was, dragged into another period, with no knowledge of what lay in store for him while here; untold dangers could end his plans before he achieved his goal, hence his desperation to return to that time with which he was familiar. Now one such untold danger had appeared, inside the room with him.

  He squinted at the small creature, which sat upon the desk near the window, cradling its oddly deformed young to its breast. Summoning an inner strength, he edged forward, noting the umbilical cord which still attached mother to child. Steeling his resolve, he reached out and prodded the animal tentatively. It was hard, shiny and smooth like bone, gnawed of all flesh by ravenous rats, and as he prodded the baby, it fell from its mother’s grasp and fell with a clatter, dangling off the edge of the desk by its umbilical cord. Neither seemed to be alive.

  ‘Hello. Gloria, is that you?’

  With a horrified gasp, Samuel stepped back slightly. The baby creature was not dead, and it could speak! ‘Abomination!’ he cried, bringing his powerful fist down onto the mother creature, smashing its skeletal body, silencing the baby.

  What he had just witnessed compared with his own brand of evil magic, so who knew what else lay in store for him? He must make haste his departure from this place.

  *

  Phil had left Rachel’s house sometime after eight that morning to catch the 10 o’clock train from Kings Cross to Edinburgh, from where he would travel to Kingussie, before getting a taxi to Ravenscreag.

  He had fully intended to catch that train, but somehow he found himself alighting from a different train at Crowborough. He paused on the platform, unsure how he got there, unsure why he was there.

  Peter?

  The word resonated within his mind as he stood there; other people bustled around him as everyone else hurried to catch their own trains. It was stiflingly hot on the platform amid the crowds, so he followed the sign for the way out, and although on the concourse outside the station building the temperature was no more comfortable, the noise level lessened a bit.

  Peter?

  He had not imagined it! The voice was real, but it was still inside his head rather than a person speaking to him.

  ‘Isabella, is that you?’ He was not entirely certain whether it was Peter speaking or himself, but the voice was his, coming from his lips as he uttered the words aloud. A young woman with a baby stopped to stare at him as though he were mad, before the man who accompanied them hastened her away, glowering at Phil.

  ‘Isabella, what do you want? What are you doing here? It is you, isn’t it?’

  Yes, Phil McFadyen, it is I, Isabella Trevayne. Please, you must grant me an audience with Peter!

  ‘What are you doing in my head?’

  Have a care not to draw attention! Speak your thoughts through your mind.

  What do you want with me? Why are you in my head?

  I need very much to converse with Peter. Please, allow him to come forward.

  I cannot stop him from speaking. Are you certain he is still with me?

  He shall be with you until everything is as it should be. He is here to help protect the young woman.

  Do you mean Gloria?

  Indeed, yes. She must be protected at all costs. Peter is here as her guardian.

  And what of you? Why are you here?

  I am the one who set things in motion.

  Who are you protecting her from?

  Peter knows of whom I speak.

  Samuel Wylams?

  Sawyl Gwilym, yes!

  ‘He’s here, isn’t he?’ cried Phil, aloud. ‘He’s going to kill her!’

  Not if we can get there in time. But I need Peter to assist. You must let him come to me!

  As he made his way across to the taxi rank, Phil opened the door of the first car and once more in the driving seat of his body, Peter told the driver where they were going. Phil was aware of what was going on, and although he could see through his own eyes, his perspective was peripheral. In his schizophrenic mind, things were rather cramped, and he would be glad when his body and mind were both fully his once more.

  *

  Rachel replaced the receiver in its cradle and turned as her mother once more descended the stairs. ‘That was most odd.’

  ‘What’s wrong? Did you get through this time?’ asked Mary as she reached the bottom of the stairs, consternation heavy in her voice.

  Rachel nodded, her frown deepening. ‘Someone picked up the other end, but no one spoke to begin with. Then the line went dead, but before it died I could have sworn I heard a man’s voice mutter the word abomination.’

  Mary inclined her head slightly, and when she spoke, her voice was tremulous. ‘He is with her!’

  ‘Who? Don’t tell me Phil’s gone back there instead of returning to Ravenscreag?’

  ‘No, not Phil. Not Peter, this time. I mean Sawyl Gwilym.’

  Rachel’s heart thumped in her throat at the mention of the warlock’s true name. Her mother had spent a great deal of time that morning, at Rachel’s insistence, telling her a good deal more about the mysterious manuscript written by Isabella than she really wanted to know, but it was information about what lay in store for Gloria. Rachel knew Sawyl Gwilym was the key to the unravelling of everything, the one person who could possibly prevent destiny running its course.

  If he is here then everything is lost!

  ‘We must do something. Call the police!’ Rachel reached for the telephone once more, but Mary laid a restraining hand on hers.

  ‘Wait, Rachel. Think carefully before you do something we may all regret. Why must you always overreact? Have you not listened to anything I have said?’

  ‘Of course I have, Mother. But Sawyl–’

  Mary cut her off. ‘Sawyl Gwilym follows his own destiny, my dear, just as Gloria does. This must play out without interference from us.’

  ‘I understand about destiny and all that, but how do we know it’s not ours to intervene? If we sit idly back and do nothing we might condemn our very existence!’

  Mary sighed. ‘We are not there, and we do not know that Sawyl is with Gloria. It’s merely a feeling I have, and as such why, logically, would we intervene?’

  Rachel took her hand away from the telephone. ‘I hope you are right, Mother!’

  *

  Groaning, Gloria struggled groggily to her feet, touching the back of her head gingerly. Her fingers came away sticky with blood, but she was relieved that it was not flowing freely. She managed to focus her wavering vision on Samuel as he turned away from the smashed telephone to regard her curiously.

  ‘Such lack of fear be most uncommon,’ he said in a curiously gentle voice. ‘How canst thou be so unafeard of the most powerful Warlock to ever walk this Earth?’

  Gloria stumbled to the sofa and collapsed onto it with relief as a wave of pain-filled dizziness forced her to close her eyes. As she did so, she noticed the manuscript lying on the floor, apparently forgotten where Samuel had obviously dropped it. She realised if she was going to keep his attention from it she would have to draw his thoughts away from discussions about magic and witchcraft.

  They both heard the car pull up outside the front garden, and Samuel, still near the window, gazed out through the glass, curious to see such wonder as a horseless carriage, out of which scrambled a young man, who practically ran up the path towards the house.

  Gloria twisted round on the sofa, startled to see Phil running up the path. Then she felt something other than dizziness wash over her. ‘It is over, Sawyl!’ she said in a cold voice that made the Warlock
turn sharply in recognition.

  ‘What trickery be this?’ he demanded, forgetting all about the imminent arrival of the young man outside. Even the sound of the back door being kicked in failed to sway his attention. ‘How can this be? I banished thee!’

  Through Gloria’s body, Isabella laughed at his confusion. ‘I was banished to another realm, forced to wander through the mists of eternity, but your banishment led me to the realm of dreams, and through the dreams of this woman I have found a way to return, to protect her!’

  Out of breath, Phil appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘Away, foul creature!’ he cried.

  Samuel glowered at the intruder. ‘Peter Neville, too? How be this possible?’

  ‘I have wandered an eternity to find my banished love!’

  Samuel laughed contemptuously. ‘How touching. Two lost souls, reunited through the bodies of two innocents!’

  As his attention focused on Phil, Gloria made Isabella aware of the manuscript on the floor, which she bent to retrieve as slowly and quietly as she could, hoping Samuel would not see her movement.

  The Warlock’s attention still fixed upon Phil. ‘What plan thee to do, Peter Neville? Thou hast no power over me!’

  ‘But I do!’ said Gloria, rising to her feet, brandishing the manuscript.

  Samuel lunged at her with a demonic howl of fury.

  Still assisted by Isabella, Gloria was ready for him. As he lunged, she reached out and grasped his wrist with supernatural strength that took Samuel by surprise.

  ‘Goodbye Peter, goodbye Phil,’ the women intoned as one, their words and voices entwined. ‘The time has come for Samuel Wylams to face retribution for his crimes. We must return to 1537, one month after we left.’

  ‘Gloria!’ called Phil from the doorway, rubbing his eyes, suddenly free from Peter’s control. He looked up and reached out a hand. ‘Gloria!’

  But the room was empty. He was quite alone.

  Summer 1537

  A hissing sound ripped asunder the tranquillity of the mid-morning silence, followed by an intense flash of light and where before there had been nothing, in the peace of James Trevayne’s parlour, Gloria and Samuel appeared.

  The instant she felt the agonizing bonds of travel release her, so Gloria released her own grip on Samuel’s wrist, taking advantage of his renewed disorientation as she took several hurried steps backwards.

  Her sense of achievement was short lived as she realised James did not await them. The small smile of triumph she had allowed herself vanished as Samuel whirled on her, his face filled with fury and hatred. The instant he raised his hands, pointing crooked fingers at her, Gloria was certain she had miscalculated in the worst possible way and that she was going to die under some terrible curse the Warlock was about to throw at her.

  The agonizing shock of travelling through time once more with no realisation that it was happening took its toll on the Warlock, who staggered forward a little drunkenly, fighting the pain while struggling to focus on Gloria.

  ‘What hast thou done, Witch?’ he croaked, longing to break her neck.

  ‘We are back in 1537, where we belong!’

  ‘Thou hast no place in this time. Return to me that which be mine, and I shall make thy death swift!’

  ‘The Lady Ria Snowfield is as much a part of this time as I,’ said James as he appeared in the doorway. ‘It is you who has no place here, Sawyl Gwilym! Vengeance shall yet be wrought upon you for your evil deeds, foul demon!’

  Gloria almost cried with relief, darting past Samuel before he had any chance to react. She stood slightly behind James as they backed away from Samuel’s menacingly advancing figure, until the large table in the Great Hall separated them from the Warlock.

  ‘Use your magic, if you dare,’ hissed James at the maniacally growling Samuel.

  Samuel laughed menacingly. ‘Thou art no match for my powers! What mean thee by such a challenge? Thou wouldst die in a heartbeat, and I shall have that which be mine!’

  ‘You cannot harm us within this house, Sawyl Gwilym! The very thing you seek has charmed it! Attempt any magic here to harm any other than yourself, and you shall fail. You might slay us, but the parchment shall be destroyed!’

  Samuel laughed. ‘Thou doest lie, for the parchment be protected by charms placed upon it by Merlin himself, and cannot be destroyed!’

  James smiled. ‘I had help in reading the parchment. True, it cannot be destroyed by any natural means, but whilst in the hands of its keeper, within the walls of the keeper’s dwelling place, it shall be destroyed if that keeper is killed with any witchcraft used by one whose writing appears upon it.’

  Samuel’s scream of fury thundered around the Great Hall, increasing in volume with the resonance of each echo. ‘Then I shall kill ye both without this dwelling!’

  ‘You have to get us outside first!’ laughed Gloria.

  With demonic ease, Samuel leapt upon the table, his mud encrusted black robes flapping menacingly like the wings of a thousand ravens. ‘That may be arranged!’ He leapt the other side as easily, landing with barely a sound directly in front of Gloria. ‘Or I might kill ye with my bare hands one at a time, starting with thee!’

  Gloria stood her ground, surreptitiously passing the book to James, who edged away. ‘I’d like to see you try!’

  With lightning speed, Samuel reached out his left arm, gripping Gloria around the throat with his dirty hand. She braced herself for the pressure that would end her life, but it did not come. Samuel’s grip was surprisingly gentle, though Gloria knew one move from her would increase the pressure and she would be dead.

  ‘Hand me the parchment. It be mine. Thou hast no right to it!’

  ‘Any more than you have a right to it, Sawyl!’

  Once more Isabella’s spirit took hold of Gloria, startling Samuel so much that he loosened his grip and his captive moved swiftly away.

  ‘Again thou doest test my patience, Isabella! Why dost thou persist upon lingering?’

  I am protector to this woman!

  Samuel howled at the intrusion within his mind, allowing James to reach the main door.

  ‘Stay where thou art!’ Samuel shouted, pointing menacingly in James’s direction as he opened the door. The door slammed shut. ‘Thou shalt not leave this house!’

  Isabella smiled. ‘But I thought you wanted us outside, so you might kill us with your magic!’

  Samuel faced the woman, unsure how to address her. ‘Thou art tethered to this woman, Isabella?’

  ‘I am, my Lord Vilam. By your hand I am trapped, bound to her, doomed to protect her, no matter the consequence!’

  ‘I have not been called by that name for many years. Not since long afore thou were my slave!’

  ‘Grow not accustomed to use of the name once more, for that is the last time you shall hear it uttered.’

  ‘I have within me the power to set thee free, Isabella. Thou hast but to give me the parchment. I shall spare this woman, send her back to her own time, and I shall set thee free!’

  Isabella snorted with contemptuous laughter. ‘You are not a man of your word, Sawyl! I shall have my freedom without unwanted help from you.’

  Samuel took a few faltering steps towards the pair as they struggled to open the oak door, all that stood between them and salvation. ‘As thou doest wish,’ he said, swiping his arm before him. The door flew open, sending James and Gloria sprawling. ‘Run if thou doest wish. I shall kill ye both without the protection of this house, where the charm guarding thy lives shall do ye no good. Accept thy fate, for there be no place for ye to hide.’

  Focusing his attention on the pair shuffling away from the door on the floor, Samuel did not notice the group of men clustered outside the front door until a clutch of arrows flew through the air; every one found their target, embedded deep within his body.

  Samuel did not utter a sound as he fell to the floor, seemingly dead.

  The soldiers rushed into the house, followed closely by a figure Gloria and Isabella
both recognised.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ said James, bowing deeply before his Monarch.

  ‘Arise, James Trevayne,’ said King Henry, pulling his fur-lined robes around himself as he regarded the wretch on the floor before him. ‘All those arrows, yet still he lives!’

  James glanced at Samuel’s body, which shifted slightly. As they watched, he slowly rose to his feet, only for the soldiers to bring him back down. They shackled his hands behind his back and gagged him so he could not bewitch them.

  Samuel’s eyes filled with hatred, directed at Gloria. She shivered, not knowing whether he really directed his hatred at her, or Isabella, or perhaps at them both.

  King Henry turned to the Captain of the soldiers. ‘Take the blackguard to the village green. The executioner awaits his guest!’

  The hatred in Samuel’s eyes turned to fear; real, genuine, palpable fear. ‘No!’

  Even through the gag, his plaintive wail of despair was audibly recognisable, but nobody within the room shed a single tear for Sawyl Gwilym: his date with the executioner was centuries overdue and there would be no escape for him this time.

  ‘My thanks, Your Grace,’ said James after the struggling Samuel Wylams was dragged from the house. ‘You have been invaluable!’

  ‘This deed I do for Isabella, James Trevayne, not for you, and certainly not for this wench,’ he pointed at Gloria, regarding her curiously. ‘Something about her is familiar.’

  James was not about to tell the King that Isabella’s spirit had possessed Gloria’s body. He knew that any such announcement would land both Gloria and himself on the executioner’s block beside Samuel.

  They all turned to the door as they heard a large cheer from the direction of the village green. Through the door, Gloria could see the executioner in the distance, brandishing aloft what could be only a severed head, while the group of gathered villagers shouted and jeered their delight.

  ‘It is done,’ said the King. ‘Pray that the right man has been executed!’