by Jacky Gray
‘It’s to do with the white horses, isn’t it?’
Both men exchanged glances of surprise at Reagan’s enquiry. Malduc looked at him keenly. ‘Why do you say that? I haven’t mentioned anything about white horses.’
‘But that’s why you want to talk to me. Someone told you about my dream. Professor Cathair must have said something – or it could have been Councillor Tegan.’
‘Both of them. It’s not unusual to dream about white horses, and we like to check everyone who does. I understand you had a similar dream each night; tell us about it.’
‘Not similar, identical. I sat on the back of a beautiful white mare, and we rode through the countryside. We passed some fields with strange patterns in the crops until we reached Stonehenge. The dream always ended the same: the whole village burned down and everyone died in the fire including me.’
‘The village was definitely Aveburgh?’
‘Yes. The fire started in this council house.’
The men exchanged another surprised glance and Malduc made a note. ‘How did you get from Stonehenge to Aveburgh?’
‘I’m not sure – I suppose we rode again. I remember riding through fields and over hills for a long time.’
‘Well, it is twenty miles away, it would take some time. Do you remember anything about the patterns in the crops?’
‘Many of them were simple circles. One had three circles arranged in a triangle and one of them was an actual triangle with straight sides – aarrrgh.’ A sharp pain above his eyes made him gasp and he put his hands up to try and stop the pain. When he opened his eyes again, his father looked worried. Malduc’s cool hand against his forehead reduced the pain to a dull ache.
‘I have a few questions – please don’t think too deeply or the pain may come back. Just answer yes, no or don’t know. I don’t need any more detail right now. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. You say you had the same dream every night for the five nights. Was it exactly the same in every detail?’
‘Yes – no – I don’t know.’
Malduc smiled. I didn’t want all three answers each time. I’ll take your last answer. Did you always start off from Aveburgh?’
‘No.’
‘Did you always go to Stonehenge?’
‘Yes.’
‘And were the crop patterns different each time?’
‘Some were the same, some were different.’
‘Excellent, that will do for now. I think we need to find your willow wand to help you move on.’
‘There’s no need. I couldn’t sleep after giving up the last one, so now I have a new wand. It seems to be more powerful because it’s from a tree I go to often to meditate. And she made a present of the branch; I didn’t have to break it off.’
Malduc leaned forward in excitement. ‘And have you had any dreams since getting this new wand?’
‘Only one. I used it for the first time last night.’
‘Did you have the same dream?’
‘Not exactly. I saw the same horse once or twice in dreams, but she refused to let me mount her without a wand. As soon as I touched the wand, even before it broke off, she took me to Stonehenge and Aveburgh henge. Then last night in my dream we galloped quickly, and as soon as I recognised Woodhenge she moved on to the next point which was Uffington.’
Malduc drew in a sharp breath, but gestured for him to continue. ‘She flew high above the hill and I saw the whole horse from above – truly wondrous. But I forgot to breathe and everything went black. The next thing I knew, Mother was calling me for breakfast.’
Malduc sat back in his seat with a deep sigh. ‘There’s no doubt. This is excellent news. Thank you so much, Reagan. I cannot tell you how much this is going to mean to the whole village, but especially to me. I need to talk to your father and sort out some details, but I will be seeing you again very soon.’ Standing up, he bent his arm in the victory salute and Reagan clasped his hand with some apprehension, feeling the strength pour into his own arm, leaving it tingling with energy.
Waiting in the entrance hall of the council building, Reagan noticed a display of artefacts, some created by Beltane contenders. His eyes were drawn to a beautiful painting dominated by the huge pentagonal stone which marks the northern entrance to the outer circle of Avebury Henge, the centre of the canvas. The serpent spirit line wound its way round the stone with the sentries of the two avenues seeming to trap the serpent’s body. A small-scale Stonehenge filled the bottom right corner; with the distinctive dragon shape of the Uffington white horse above. Another white horse commanded the lower left, but the gap in the fourth corner made his forehead hum with pain.
He focussed on a painting with a collection of interesting circle patterns which had been found in the crops. The five designs were arranged in the shape of an “X.” The centre pattern had seven circles, four white circles in a row with three underneath. As his brain recognised the pleasing symmetry, the pain faded. Two of the patterns had four small circles, set at opposite sides of a central circle, an arrangement known as a Celtic cross. The elegant six-fold symmetry of the bottom left pattern mesmerised with petal shapes round a circle containing a six-pointed star. On closer examination, he saw the petals and star were made from intersecting circles. A voice in his head said seven and he counted the seven circles. Feeling happier, he looked at the last shape. From a distance it looked like a triangle with a small white circle at each corner and a black circle in the centre. As he approached the painting, he realised the outer circles were different. Curved lines divided one circle into six equal sections, another had merely a radius. The last corner had a shape which looked like a golden spiral, linked to the Fibonacci numbers.
Something strange and powerful happened inside Reagan’s head. Patterns, shapes and numbers began to spiral round in his brain. The numbers were Prime, Fibonacci and Square. Shapes interspersed with the numbers: triangles, pentagons and hexagons. But the patterns demanded the most attention; beautiful, intricate designs made from circles and lines, all with perfect symmetry. He stumbled as these patterns took on a life of their own, racing round inside his head as though being chased by an animal; then he realised this was the truth of it! His enchanted white mare galloped behind, rounding them into a frenzied spiral which got bigger and bigger. The first pattern exploded out of his head and whirled round the room before disappearing through the window. All the other numbers, shapes and patterns followed until nothing remained inside his head. Reagan collapsed onto the floor.
7 Beltane Trials
‘Come on Reagan, it’ll be fun.’
‘I’m afraid terrorising young boys is not my idea of fun.’
‘Don’t be such a goody goody. We’re not going to hurt them.’ Molan sighed in exasperation.
‘It’s an ancient ritual. They’ll be expecting it.’ Taryn’s attempt held far more persuasive power, but then he spoilt it. ‘We wouldn’t want to disappoint them, would we?’
‘Why would they be disappointed?’ Reagan pretended to frown. ‘Surely not being tormented about a nasty, frightening initiation ceremony would cause elation, not disappointment.’
‘It’s not that bad. We had to suffer our turn two years ago. Remember how evil Edlyn was?’ Molan’s shudder was positively theatrical.
‘Even Archer joined in when Finn and Fletch got going.’
Reagan acknowledged Taryn’s comment. ‘Yes, but they did it with a twinkle in their eyes.’
‘As shall we. Have you seen Archer, lately?’
‘No, he’s still studying far away. He only comes back every other moon.’ Reagan changed the subject eagerly.
‘I hope he brings some more of those books, I really liked the one about the Plantagenet kings.’
‘Only because they were full of battles and deaths.’
Shaking his head at Molan’s bloodthirsty streak, Reagan followed them to the lehren yard, wondering if this wasn’t the cruellest part of the ritual. They were supposed to
bait the fourth years with hints of the terrors they had coming. His father stressed the importance of the initiates taking responsibility for their actions. At thirteen, they were judged more than old enough to stop making excuses and blaming other people for their own inadequacies or mistakes.
Reagan could see Molan’s point about the injustice of the girls not having to go through it. But from his experience, the girls tended to be more grown up about practically everything and were always talking about thoughts and feelings. So he joined in with the little group standing by the entrance to the food hall where the fourth years were queuing for the daily broth.
Taryn started it off. ‘Ah Reagan, do you remember the awful thing with the serpent at our Imbolc?’
‘I had dreadful nightmares.’ He mimicked Molan’s pretend shudder as his friend showed off his acting talents.
‘I know. Remember the stuff with the willow whip? Didn’t you pass out?’
‘I did. Days afterwards, but it still had an effect on me.’ So far he’d managed not to tell any outright lies.
‘But the fire ordeal was definitely the worst. Especially the bit where …’ Molan looked round furtively and pretended to notice the younger boys standing nearby, straining to catch every word. He beckoned the others into a huddle and whispered. ‘Got ’em. Now make it really awful.’
‘Absolutely. I suffered for weeks because of that.’ Taryn seemed to be getting into the spirit just as much as Molan who was going for the big finish.
‘Weeks? You got off lightly. I suffered for moons, but I had a lot more penance to pay than you. What about you, Reagan? Did all that studying help?’
‘Not really. I found out a lot of stuff about Imbolc, but nothing about the ritual. It’s much too secret to write down.’
The fourth year boys had reached the front of the queue and they got their dish of broth and crust of bread and scuttled off to another group of boys who seemed eager to hear the latest tales.
‘A job well done I think.’ Molan had loved every minute. ‘They’ll be quaking in their boots in two weeks time.’
‘And we didn’t actually stray too far from the truth.’
‘You didn’t, Reagan. I noticed you were choosing your words carefully. But you probably scared them the most.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I wonder if they’ve had their willow wands yet.’ Taryn saw his friend’s unease with the idea of baiting the younger ones and changed the subject.
Reagan smiled with gratitude. ‘They should be getting them tomorrow. It’s full moon in three days’ time.’
Molan was bored with it. ‘Enough about their Imbolc, what about our Beltane? Which Worthy have you chosen, Taryn?’
‘I wanted to choose Geoffrey Chaucer, but Mother thinks he’s too vulgar, being only the son of a merchant.’
Reagan joined in with enthusiasm. ‘That’s a great choice, I’ve been studying him. He led a really exciting life, travelling all over Italy as King’s envoy. And he wrote the Canterbury tales. So, who did you go for in the end?’
‘Richard the Lionheart. I’m sure lots of people will have chosen him because of his great warrior skills, but Mother insisted on a well-educated king, and he wrote poetry in French.’
‘Because his mother was French. Eleanor of Aquitaine? You’ll never guess who I’ve chosen.’ Molan loved to tease.
‘Alexander? Saladin? Genghis Khan?’
‘You must have seen me reading the book about foreign kings. No, he’s an English writer.’
‘Not Chaucer? I could tell you a lot about him.’
‘Thanks Taryn, but no. My man was called the greatest writer in the English language. William Shakespeare. Archer brought a book of his plays when he came back last time. It’s …’
‘Is there any point? No-one else has heard of him because we don’t study writers from other lands. But we will do soon, thanks to Archer’s mission.’
‘Good point, Reagan, I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe I will do Chaucer if you two will share your notes.’
‘Who have you chosen, Reagan?’
Before he could reply, a bell signalled the end of lunch and they had to go back to class.
The following day, all the sixth years gathered nervously outside the hall, waiting for the first trial to choose the eighteen Worthies for the Beltane graduation ceremony. The general knowledge assessment comprised three sections, the first testing their ability to read and understand information and make decisions based on it. The second part tested their ability to work with numbers to make the basic calculations required to maintain a dwelling, budget for a household and plan a journey.
The last section was undoubtedly the hardest, covering the specialties of the other two clans. For the Magi, this meant questions on sporting activities such as jousting, archery and sword fighting. The Warrior responsibilities encompassed care of the forests, horses and other animals. The domain of the Outil clan reached much further, including crop farming and many diverse crafts from building to baking, stone masonry to tanning. Almost everything manufactured, from the finest lace to the coarsest weapon, involved the skill and expertise of someone from the Outil clan. It didn’t stop certain Magi and Warrior boys suggesting the Outils were somehow inferior, because their skills did not possess the same level of mental or physical agility.
Godryk, more arrogant than all the other Magi boys put together, complained long and loud as they came out of the hall. ‘Thank the Gods that’s over. I’ll never have to learn another thing about how the stupid Outils process sheep’s wool or what kind of soil to plant a potato in.’
‘Because you’d rather dress in the whole sheepskin like a savage and eat wild berries and nuts?’ Reagan couldn’t stop himself from baiting the boy, who had the same thoughtless cruelty running through his blood as his cousin, Edlyn.
‘Because I’ll be so rich I can afford to buy the best clothes and food which someone else has toiled over.’
‘And you’ll make all this money how exactly? By being so popular with the Outils they vote you onto the council? Or by being such an understanding lawyer they flock to use your services in their thousands? In case you haven’t noticed, there are at least ten Outil jobs for every one Magi or Warrior job, so unless you’re the best in your clan, you may find yourself having to learn a craft.’ Two years ago he wouldn’t have had the nerve to challenge someone like Godryk, nor the slightest wish to do so. The friendship of Archer and his irreverent friends had given Reagan the confidence not to let injustice pass uncontested.
‘Whereas the world is crying out for people who can do fancy tricks with numbers inside their heads. Or are you just judging other people by your own standards?’ Godryk smirked at his supporters. ‘I’m sure your mother is already wailing because her son will have to dirty his hands by learning a craft.’
Reagan raised an eyebrow in disdain. He refused to get upset by any slur this tyrant could invent about him or his family. He wasn’t worth the breath it would take to reply, so Reagan turned his back on him to talk to Taryn. But it seemed the brat wanted some kind of satisfaction.
‘Don’t you turn your back on me, number-boy. Aren’t you going to defend your mother’s honour?’
‘If my mother’s honour had been sullied, I would be required to defend it. I don’t see how an insult directed at me, by a boy who needs a gang around him before he dares practise his inadequate intimidation attempts, can possibly challenge my mother’s honour.’
This time when he turned his back, Godryk let him go; he was still struggling to work out Reagan’s impressive rhetoric. The subtle insults had not bypassed several boys in the crowd. They were pretending to touch Godryk, blowing on their fingers to show he’d been well and truly burned by a master.
‘Scorching, Reagan.’ Taryn held up his hand in a victory salute.
Molan clasped both of them together. ‘Awesome burn mate, but I think if he wasn’t your enemy before, he truly will be now.’
8 Meltdown
> Each clan began the second day with a test on its own specialism. For the Magi, this meant religious festivals, healing methods, and the history of the people including their laws and daily practices. It lasted all morning and contained questions on bardic skills such as painting, poetry, music and other performing arts. The first part had basic questions designed to test their breadth of knowledge on a range of topics. The second section had more challenging questions where they had to show a greater depth of understanding, but they only had to answer ten questions out of twenty. Finally, several topics were listed and they had to write about the connection between any two of them, giving detail and examples to show their understanding.
Reagan was so happy he could have hugged someone. Two of the main topics were “properties of trees” and “fire festivals” – subjects he’d studied long and hard. He was tempted by “healing herbs” and “the five elements,” but as he asked for his fifth sheet of paper and wrote the heading Beltane, he knew he’d made the right choice. As he finished his final sentence, the bell rang announcing the end of the assessment.
The lunch break seemed very short and Niall, one of the most senior professors, said a few words before the next test. ‘This is probably the most important of your trials. It’s your chance to show your ability to research and retain facts on a given subject. Because many students will have excelled in the other two sections, the choice of the final three girls and boys from each clan may depend on what you write now.’ He paused so his words could sink in, oblivious to the heavy sighs. ‘You have five minutes at the start to read through all three sections and no pens will be allowed until the bell is rung. Is everyone clear? Then you may turn over your question papers.’