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
Map of the Hengist Area (Wessex)
Contents
Prologue
1 Good Enough
2 Badger Day
3 Willow Wand
4 Imbolc Initiation
5 Uffington
6 Crop Patterns
7 Beltane Trials
8 Meltdown
9 Edlyn the Tormentor
10 Blaise the Guide
11 Crime & Punishment
12 Dowsing Earth Energy
13 Kalen the Mentor
14 Truly Worthy
15 Thearl the Artist
16 Looking for Clues
17 Reeve the Smith
18 Patterns & Dates
19 Mystery Infection
20 Archer’s World Wide Web
21 Dates & Horses
22 First Crop Patterns
23 Numbers & Shapes
24 Spirit Lines
25 Just Being Friendly
26 Helen & Joan
27 Five or Six?
28 Renegates
29 The Seagry Horse
30 Romans & Travellers
31 The Right Site
32 Beltane Graduation
33 The Right Shape
34 Still Image or Flowing Picture?
35 The Right Horse
36 Problems & Setbacks
37 Hengst the Proud
38 Devises Barrel Race
39 Triangles & Pentagons
40 Threes & Fives
41 Blacksmith’s Assistant
42 Chosen Child
43 Prime or Fibonacci?
44 The Death Sleep
Epilogue
To Bri – for giving me a role-model for all my heroes and infecting me with your love of language.
To Chris – for actively sharing my love of all things historical, military and science fiction.
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 design Copyright © 2015 Rebecca Sterling
www.sterlingdesignstudios.com
White Horse designCopyright© 2010 Anthony Askew
www.askewportfolio.wordpress.com
First published in 2011 by Lulu
This edition 2015
www.hengistarcher.co.uk
Prologue
This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Reagan threw down his precious notebook and pencil in disgust. He’d tried a hundred different ways to solve this puzzle and nothing worked. It was no longer merely an interesting challenge. If he didn’t solve this thing soon, more people in the village would suffer the consequences of the dreadful run of bad luck and accidents. The devastation got worse with each new adversity.
In the beginning, the incidents could be explained reasonably: the two men who disappeared could simply have fallen out with their families; a virus could have destroyed the crops in the three fields; the five dead rats could have all eaten something bad. When it affected children, people really started taking notice, especially when a new case of the mystery illness appeared every day. Several parents panicked, pulling their children out of lehren and keeping them at home, not trusting the teachers to keep them safe. Others caused chaos at the council house with their demands for a solution. For whatever reason, Reagan had been chosen to work something out, but the pieces of the puzzle were simply not fitting together. When it affected someone he knew, the pressure to solve it became even greater and this made things worse.
Closing his eyes against the pain in his skull, he ground the heels of his hands into his eyelids as though this might help, or at least drive the demons out of his head. This action merely created white lights which remained even after he opened his eyes. He was angry with himself for imagining his gift was so special that he could solve the problem some of the best minds in the village had been working on for over a year. It must be him. He had all the same symptoms as the other boys, much stronger than they had, from what Malduc suggested.
Cradling his chin in his hands, he closed his eyes once more. The bright lights were still there and, like everything else around him, they were trying to tell him something. Relaxing, he let his mind run freely as the crazy shapes tumbled around, using the back of his eyelids as their playground. He held his breath as two or three thoughts detached themselves from the jumble and vied with each other to capture his attention. One of them broke away, heading to the part of his brain which turned the germ of an idea into a recognisable thought in a language he understood. Just as it was in danger of making the final leap, his pencil decided to roll off the table and fall on the floor. The tiny sound was more than enough to destroy his concentration before the thought reached the forefront of his brain where it could stand up and be counted.
He could have cried in anger, but this would have given him no physical release, so he shoved everything off the table with violent satisfaction. Books and papers tumbled down, landing with a pleasing crash. But not quite pleasing enough. He dropped his head so fast his forehead hit the work-worn wood with a thump which came close to causing actual pain.
For the first time, he understood what his father meant about how suffering strengthened the learning. If it came too easily, it was easily forgotten. All three thoughts presented themselves to
the correct part of his brain with their hair neatly combed and their bags packed, ready to go.
Thought number one: the shape did not have to be regular. The shapes spinning in front of his eyes were triangles, pentagons and heptagons, but the sides were not the same length and they were not perfectly symmetrical.
Thought number two: the patterns written in the crops would help him to find the number he needed. He knew it revolved around the sequences, and this would tell him which pattern to focus on.
Thought number three: he needed to talk to Archer. His hero was probably the only person who could help him solve the mystery before it destroyed him.
1 Good Enough
Reagan’s Garlanding marked the first real change in his short life thus far. This Beltane ceremony marked the first time he met Avebury’s favourite hero, Archer, a boy destined to play a huge part in Reagan’s life. More incredibly, his actions resulted in his mother’s first word of praise in his direction. Only because people were watching, and only after her husband’s complaint about her nagging. Nevertheless, it signified an actual admission of her pride. The first one ever.
Nothing was good enough for her, so when Reagan’s class were given the task of creating a garland, she nagged and pouted, piling on the pressure. As usual, he responded by studying long and hard, finding out the meanings of various symbols and rituals for the celebration of the first day in May. He wanted to stay true to everything Beltane represented and his initial idea involved a creation based on the maypole.
When he told her, his mother dismissed the notion. ‘Don’t be silly Reagan, if you do something like that, you’ll never win.’
‘But why can’t it be a maypole? It’s a traditional symbol of Beltane and I could twist ribbons …’
‘Reagan. I won the garlanding for my year, so I know what I’m talking about. A garland has to be a cross or a hoop and that’s the end of it.’
Reagan wasn’t prepared to give up and approached his father, telling him about the design.
‘Mmmm? Sounds original.’ He glanced up from his council business. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen anything similar, but then I don’t take much notice apart from the ones on show in the council building.’ His eyes flicked back to the report.
‘Are they all crosses or hoops?’
‘Most of them, but I seem to remember one which looked like a bonfire, and another in the shape of a handfasting arch.’
‘You see, I knew Mother could be mistaken. They are symbols of Beltane too and …’
His father frowned. Reagan now had his full attention. ‘What did your mother say?’
‘She said it had to be a cross or a hoop, but …’
‘You thought you would ask me even after your mother said no? That’s not how we do things in this house, Reagan, and you know it. If your mother says no, I will always say no. If we didn’t support each other, there would be no harmony in the house. I’ll hear no more on the subject.’
Being a dutiful son who always tried to please his parents, Reagan did what his mother wanted; even though he knew his maypole idea had merit. After studying the different plants and their meanings, he created an unusual cross using twigs from the trees special to Beltane. In the end, it really didn’t matter what he made. Before he had a chance to present it for judging, someone turned it into a pile of junk. He guessed who was responsible. Godryk and some of his friends were hanging around the tent earlier in the day.
Somehow, the King of the May had understood what had happened and gently asked him to put it back together and tell the story. Well known in the village, Archer was regarded as a hero by most of the boys in Reagan’s year. Big, tough and skilled in all sports, he’d thrilled the crowds in a joust and sword and buckler fight a few hours earlier. Reagan stumbled through the explanation of what each twig represented, but as soon as Bethia spoke to him, he dropped them in a heap again. If it wasn’t bad enough being judged by the biggest hero in the village, it had to be the most beautiful girl as well.
His mother became unbearable when he won the prize. ‘See Reagan, I told you so. Mother knows best. Mother always knows best.’ She ran an expert hand over his hair, something he always hated, but he forced himself not to flinch. It simply showed more evidence of her disapproval, this time of the way he looked. The thick, wavy hair refused to submit to any order, no matter how many times she tried to flatten down the wayward locks. ‘I don’t know where you got this hair from; it just refuses to lie down. Not from your father and certainly not from me.’ She patted her own hair, trim and sleek from all the time she lavished on it. As the wife of a council senior, her appearance mattered.
‘Let the boy be, this is no time for nagging. Well done, son. You worked hard and deserved the prize. I’m proud of you.’
‘Well, yes, of course. I’m proud of you, too.’ She gave him a superficial hug, as though acting the part of a proud mother for the benefit of anyone watching. Reagan had become too used to his mother’s constant criticism for her grudging praise to dent the armour he’d built up to protect himself from her barbs. Although his father’s words sounded genuine, Reagan knew they were merely an automatic reaction. Part of his job on the council involved governing the welfare and well being of the people in the village to maintain harmony. So he was used to giving praise, letting people know they were valued and making a useful contribution to the society.
Several days later, when his father asked what gift he would like as a reward, Reagan asked for a notebook. As usual, his mother had something to say about it.
‘A notebook? Do you think we are made of money? I thought you would want a new leather jacket like the one you admired so much on Archer’s friend, Finn.’
You mean the one you admired so much. ‘There would be no point, Mother. It would not fit me in a year, which would be a waste. Maybe when I’m sixteen and have stopped growing so quickly. The one uncle Jeffrey gave me is good enough for now.’
She sniffed with disapproval. ‘He only passed it on because your cousin grew out of it. I want you to have something new. Something you can be proud of.’
Something you can be proud of, more like. Reagan lowered his eyes in case the second unworthy thought showed on his face.
His father used his skills to pacify her. ‘A new jacket would be perfect when he graduates, dear. But I’m sure I’ll be able to get something from the council. They have a stock of old notebooks which have been discarded. You wouldn’t mind one of those, would you, Reagan?’
‘As long as you don’t go filling it with nonsense. You’ve got your slates if you just want to do those silly calculations you’re so fond of.’
Once again, his mother’s disapproval did not pierce Reagan’s good mood. He was too pleased by what had happened at lehren, earlier that day. Godryk had tried to push in front of him in the lunch queue, but Archer told the boy to apologise and go to the end of the queue. He clapped Reagan on the back and said to let him know if the bully tried it again. All at once, Reagan found himself on the receiving end of admiring glances from girls in his year. Some of the Warrior boys, who would not normally notice him, gave him friendly smiles. It didn’t stop there. Archer and his friends said hello whenever their paths crossed, and Reagan gradually assumed some importance with the other fourth year students.
When his father finally remembered to give him the notebooks, two were well worn, with half of the pages ripped out, but one was almost brand new. That night, Reagan opened the new book to start his journal, a record of all the important facts he’d discovered. The sense of awe he felt at the blank page made him hesitate. He wanted this to be perfect, not like the healer’s journal: stuffed full of useful information only she could make any sense of.
With regret, he put down the book and picked up the slate and chalk, making a list of the things he wanted to include: trees and plants, oils, incense and crystals and various other items used in healing. Copying the list into one of the tatty notebooks, he decided to spend some time gathering informa
tion in them before writing it into the proper journal.
Over the next few weeks, he looked at each category in detail, beginning with the topic he knew most about. He wrote the heading “Properties of Trees” and underlined it. Next came a list of all the trees he could think of, starting with apple and ash, ending with rowan, willow and yew. Picking up a book he’d borrowed from the librarie, he turned to the index and added the ones he’d missed; there were several. Then he made a list of the things he wanted to know about each tree: physical characteristics such as where it grew and when it flowered, the uses of the wood and the main festivals it was associated with. The most important category came last, detailing what the tree represented in terms of the help it gave to people and how it could be used in various spells and potions for healing.
After storing facts in the smaller notebooks for seven moon cycles, he was no closer to a good way of organising the facts. In a chance discussion, his sister, Kimbra, mentioned how the dream angels helped her solve a problem. That night, feeling a little foolish, he followed her instructions to invoke them. His dreams were haunted by notebook pages filled with lists of information with lots of crossings out and additions where he’d made mistakes and forgotten things. The pieces of information began lining up next to each other in rows and each row belonged to a certain tree until it became a large table with a row for each tree and a column for each property. Each page had ten trees on it, arranged in alphabetical order, with a blank row at the end of each page, in case he’d missed one.
All through the next day, he could barely concentrate. He simply wanted to get home and start his journal properly, but everything changed in the last lesson. Professor Cathair announced the next few weeks’ lessons would be used to prepare for an important initiation ritual and their homework was to find out five facts about Imbolc.