by Jacky Gray
What people say about Archer:
“Archer is a boy after my own heart. A little shy, wickedly clever (when words are necessary), and loyal to the bone. I think the best part of this book is how human and endearing all the characters are.”JD
“Archer is fascinating and captivating! I love the way the characters, scenes and general description of Archer's world are portrayed so eloquently. Jacky Gray not only tells a wonderful tale; she manages to capture the sounds, smells and emotional energies of his world.” SD
“Anyone who promotes Archery in any form is to be congratulated in my book and I think somewhere along the way Jacky must have got caught up in the sport judging by the passion of her writing.” JA
“My mum was planning to read the book before I did but I insisted on reading it first so she has to wait. So far, your book has been one of the best I've read in years. I'm looking forward to your next book.”AR
What people say about Rory:
“I read the first book in this series in a day and a half, and I read this one even quicker. In this installment, Archer is sent to modern day England and has the same kind of problems with bullies that he had at home. I love the way he handles himself in some pretty horrible situations and the way he finds justice for those involved.” AD
“Rory is an absorbing tale that mixes medieval with modern. As she did with the first novel in the series, Ms. Gray delivers a well-written, fast-paced work. It is targeted at teen-agers but enjoyable for all ages.” VR
What people say about Reagan:
“I have thoroughly enjoyed all of the Hengist series, but there is something about this one in particular that really speaks to me. I can't put a finger on it, but it has to do with the way the author spins this one out, with the mixing of the mystery and the mystical.”HS
“I picked up this book because I have an unnatural obsession with the chalk horses of England and was not disappointed! Reagan has to decode crop circles and spirit lines as well as find patterns in everyday events--all to help determine the position of the next white horse.”LR
Hengist: The People of the Horse
Geraint
Jacky Gray
To all the lovely World Wise Writers:
Hannah: for her enduring patience in fixing my “, ; :” malfunctions
Ace: for being the best promo-partner/cheerleader a girl could want
Sho: for giving the wWw’s an awesomely professional media presence
JD: for sharing her wit, wisdom and truly phenomenal blog posts
This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events other than those clearly in the public domain are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 Jacky Gray
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
Front cover designCopyright © 2015 Rebecca K. Sterling
www.sterlingdesignstudios.com
White Horse designCopyright© 2010 Anthony Askew
www.askewportfolio.wordpress.com
http://www.hengistarcher.co.uk
http://hengistpeoplehorse.blogspot.co.uk/
https://www.facebook.com/HengistPeopleOfTheHorse
https://twitter.com/jacky_gray.
http://www.worldwisewriters.com/
Contents
Part I – Geraint
Prologue
1 Stealth Trial
2 Camouflage
3 Ciria
4 Savannah
5 Unarmed Combat Training
6 Three Tribes
7 Manfrid
8 My Son, the Warrior Prince
9 Siany
10 Wondrous Stories
11 Learning to Read
12 Hengist or Horsa?
13 Different Worlds
14 Dinner at the Ritz
15 Healing Energy
16 Carterson
17 Ambush
18 Six onto One
19 Separate Ways
20 Beltane Sports
21 A Remarkable Friend
22 Samhain: All Souls
23 The Legendary Finn and Fletch
24 Evading Capture
25 On the Road Again
26 Renegate Threat
27 Ruins and Delays
28 Saviour
29 Do You Yield?
30 Honey Moon Esbat
31 Precious Shells
32 Midsummer Kisses
33 Tamas and Kia
34 Trial by Fire
35 Riders on the Storm
Part II – Conflict
36 War Council
37 The Man in the Mask
38 Infiltrators
39 Strategies and Tactics
40 The First Skirmish
41 The Battle for the Mills
42 Edlyn’s Revenge
43 Final Torment
Epilogue
Glossary
Acknowledgements
WorldWiseWriters
Part I – Geraint
Prologue
‘Shut up. Keep your head down and for Hengist’s sake, keep still.’ As the oldest, Fredulf took control.
‘But I didn’t say anything.’ BANG. Oeric’s solid, calloused hand connected with Geraint’s ear so hard it seemed his brain rattled inside his head.
‘What did you do that …?’ BANG. The other ear this time. Now his whole head rang. Geraint had spent a year away from the tribe, living what his father called “the soft life” with Uncle Tol and his wife Janna. They weren’t really related, but friends of Geraint’s mother who had stayed with them when she became too ill to endure the harsh life of a travelling tribe.
So now the older boys had the task of “toughening him up.” A job they approached with enthusiasm, taking every opportunity to make him miserable and trying every way they could to expose him to the same dirty, smelly conditions they relished. In common with the tribe’s men, they both firmly believed nothing was retained without a healthy dose of pain. Being blood kin, Oeric felt it his right and privilege to inflict the most damage, knowing he had full approval from Geraint’s father, Rattrick.
It was difficult to undo many moons of being encouraged to laugh, learn and question everything. But undo it, he did. Under this new regime, Geraint picked up two things more quickly than anything else: If you were different you got hurt; if you didn’t adapt quickly enough you got hurt. He stopped finding joy in things like a rabbit’s little wiggle as it scampered away. He stopped laughing because it was good to be alive in a forest where water trickled down the back of your neck from the trees an hour after it had stopped raining. But he couldn’t stop the habit of asking why.
The habit picked up because every time Uncle Tol answered a question, he positively encouraged the boy to ask why, considering “because it is” to be an unacceptable answer. This game kept them occupied for many happy hours, inventing outrageous reasons why things happened long after the real ones dried up. So the winter after his mother died was the longest, hardest one Geraint ever endured. He had to unlearn everything he thought important about manners and behaviour and even how to talk.
‘Hey Gawaint, come and smell this flower,’ they taunted, using a baby version of his name.
‘Gawaint, go and ask Darrack for a wooden door key.’
‘Would you like to try a country pancake?’
Any time he bent down, one of them would be waiting to kick his behind so he would go sprawling, usually into a puddle or, if they were feeling particularly aggrieved, a huge cow pat.
The first few times this happened, he squealed or protested, but this made the name-calling worse, so he learnt to show no reaction, which seemed to enrage them even more. He tried to avoid being kicked by kneeling or squatting instead of bending or, on one occasion, by leaping sideways to avoid a vicious pile of nettles.
It took all his strength and concentration to learn how to dodge a slap or punch so it landed with minimal damage. Each time he outsmarted them, the penalty would be twice as bad the next time. He compromised by letting them think they’d bested him. No matter what he did it was wrong, so he suffered his punishment with the minimum of fuss, vowing he would never treat anyone like this. It wasn’t until he’d endured this treatment for several years that he understood their actions were a necessary part of his training. And that it was his duty to be cruel to the younger boys so they might build up the essential reactions and defences.
Amidst their gratuitous violence, they taught him how to run so he barely made a sound, how to disable an opponent effectively and how to stalk an animal for hours without detection. Under their cruel guidance, he learnt how to defend himself from every kind of attack and how to inflict pain, both physical and mental, on an adversary. How to hunt any animal and prepare it for the pot; which roots or plants would improve the flavour, and which ones made it spoil. Which funghi tasted good, which ones caused sickness or abdominal cramps, and which ones could kill by merely being picked.
His favourite funghi were the ones which made the brutal life more bearable. The ones Oeric and Fredulf would carefully dry in the sun then crumble into a leaf and smoke. The ones added to the broth before a big battle when the men needed extra courage. Not that there had been any battles for decades, merely the occasional skirmish with other tribes of Renegates. Usually over territory, and generally nothing more than the snarling of savage dogs.
1 Stealth Trial
‘Shut up. Keep your head down and for Hengist’s sake, keep still.’ As Geraint hissed at the annoying little brat next to him, he shivered at the memory of those exact words several years earlier and the accompanying clip round the ear. He considered administering the required slap but, unlike him, Thanet shut up straight away, dropping down and blending in with the dense undergrowth like a chameleon. Stifling a grin, Geraint ignored the impulse to swell with pride at the way his young charge mastered what was required of him. He gained the skills quickly because he listened intently and copied the older boy exactly in a desperate bid to gain approval. Refusing to acknowledge the element of good teaching involved, Geraint decided on this occasion he would not reinforce the training with pain because the boy had done so well.
A week later, it was no longer an exercise as they hid in the forest, spying on a group of “Townies” getting drunk and planning their trip down to the Litha celebrations. It was Thanet’s first formal trial. Fredulf and Oeric were arbiters along with one of the tribe elders, Darrack, a stern man who rarely smiled.
Geraint knew his ability as a teacher was being scrutinised every bit as minutely as his young charge’s performance during the task. So far it had gone well, but this part of the task would extend the boy’s abilities to the limit. Of the areas tested, he’d be most likely to fail this one. Even before the thought completed, the sound of a twig snapping under the weight of the boy’s knee broke through a momentary silence in the ribald conversation.
‘What was that? Hush. I heard something.’
For a long moment, every living thing in the forest seemed to hold its breath and listen. Not only the would-be revellers, their stalker and his observers, but the very trees seemed to pause in their gentle dance in the breeze. The silence grew into a living entity which consumed the rustle of every leaf, the twitch of every insect and the scuttle of every small animal.
‘Nah, Slater, you’re imagining things. How much of this ale have you had?’
‘Slater doesn’t drink. Don’t be daft.’
‘Who’re you calling daft?’
As the loud banter resumed, Geraint focussed his mind on Thanet’s petrified form, willing him to clear away the broken twig before he continued his advance toward the prey.
In spite of the fear he must be feeling, the ten-year-old remained calm, moving his hand cautiously until he could grasp the offending wood and slide it out from under his knee. His progress slowed a little as he carefully probed the ground with his fingers for anything which could announce his presence. Although it was mostly dry and crumbly at this time of year, Geraint knew from experience there would be some delightful treats for unwary fingers: a smashed bird’s egg, the slime from a nocturnal creature and any number of crackling, squidgy or foul-smelling surprises.
To pass the trial, Thanet had to get within ten paces of the prey without them detecting his presence. The arbiters were skilled in judging distances and had already noted a line of bushes which could be used to indicate success. With a thrill of pride, Geraint watched his charge clear the bushes easily and continue on for at least four paces to a small rock where he lay for the required five minutes. A good judgement. He could have chosen another rock a few paces closer to the edge of the clearing, but the undergrowth covering the seven paces between the rocks was sparse.
Geraint saw Darrack gauging the risk of detection and the nod of satisfaction told him Thanet’s good sense had been registered. A bubble of anticipation swelled up inside him, and he released the breath he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding. It was all over apart from the stealthy withdrawal – one of the lad’s strengths. Nothing should go wrong now.
Cursing himself for the thought even before it was fully formed in his head, he watched in horror as the worst possible thing happened as the scene erupted into chaos in front of him.
How many times had the elders warned about the power of the mind? At least once a season, one of them would give an example of how someone had influenced things with a stray thought. How an accidental daydream had jinxed a situation resulting in a negative outcome for those involved. Because of the way they lived, this was not trivial. It could mean the difference between them eating that night or being chased out of a village by an angry mob.
Watching with growing consternation as the drama unfolded before his eyes, it never once occurred to Geraint the cause of the disruption could be anything but an innocent misfortune. According to Fredulf, the animal was sleeping and he accidentally tripped over it, trying to get a better view of the boys in the clearing. It seemed perfectly feasible at the time but, when he thought about it later, he realised it was unlikely a wild pig would sleep before the sun set; they were not normally nocturnal. Whatever the circumstances of the encounter, the resulting mayhem made the creature squeal and charge toward the clearing, causing the boys to head for cover. Straight toward the rock where Thanet lay observing them. The rules of the trial were clear; if a single one of the targets became aware of the presence of the observer before he’d returned to the safety of the start point, the trial was deemed to have failed and would have to be re-attempted at a later date.
Cursing the power of his presumptuous celebratory thought, Geraint sent a prayer to Gaia to protect his young charge from any ill-effects of this unfortunate incident. Melting into the undergrowth, he visualised the protective screen around his body which made it impossible for anyone to distinguish him from the surroundings.
With a smile, he remembered Thanet’s fascination with the extraordinary phenomenon.
2 Camouflage
‘Please Geraint. There’s only a week ‘til the trial. I know I can do it if only you’d explain it one more time.’
Thanet’s request, on top of all the other questions, pushed Geraint closer to the place where, like Oeric, he would administer a slap. But the boy was only trying to learn and Geraint remembered Tol’s mantra that you would never learn unless you asked. He smiled wryly, thinking how little time it had taken for him to swap the Townie’s gentle way of learning by study to the Renegate’s way of gaining skills by harsh experience. But he resisted th
e violence.
The lad was every bit as persistent as Geraint had been with Tol. ‘Basically, you’re just standing still, right?’
‘Not merely being still. In fact, it’s better if you’re not standing; it becomes hard to maintain for long periods.’
‘I know. You start to sway and then people can see you move.’
‘Not exactly. It isn’t always the movement of your body which makes you visible to people. If you stood perfectly still and everything around you swayed in the breeze, you’d be easy to spot.’
‘But you’d stay still next to an oak tree. They don’t sway.’
‘Are you absolutely sure?’
‘Of course I am. Stop teasing me. Tell me about the trick.’
‘It’s not a trick, more of a ...’ Geraint tried to think of a suitable word to describe the technique of becoming invisible, ‘… ruse.’
‘Which means trick. How do you do it?’
He explained how he started by concentrating on the vibrations of his surroundings, breathing in the energy through the smells and colours. But he struggled to find the words to describe the way he became one with them, taking on the shape and form, moving in synchronisation. In the case of living things, it took on an extra dimension, almost as though he began to become one of them. As he imagined becoming the object, he surrounded himself with a barrier no man could see through. The final step, which he’d discovered accidentally, was to clear all thought, as in a meditation, to remove his presence so other humans couldn’t detect his consciousness.
Geraint smiled as he remembered how, a mere week ago, the boy had obsessed over the idea, demanding to know minute details of each step and practicing them with little success. Until now. As he watched, the boy’s outline blended into the stone until it was difficult to tell them apart. By the time the agitated boys staggered past, Geraint could not see his charge at all. Neither could the boy who stumbled and fell; his face a few scant inches from the rock.