Reagan (Hengist-People of the Horse Book 3)

by Jacky Gray

  While he dreamed, Malduc had obviously explained something to the crowd. ‘So with great pleasure, I award this scholarship and I’m sure we all wish Reagan the very best of luck during his time away. He will not miss the Beltane celebrations, there will be a special role for him.’

  Reagan looked uncertainly at the council leader as he accepted a parchment tied in a red ribbon. As their fingers touched, Malduc projected an image of the unfurled scroll which read: “Scholarship for outstanding academic achievement, 100% on all tests.” Malduc held up his hand to quieten the clapping. ‘This is only the second time I can remember this award being made. The first time was to the man who will be Reagan’s mentor. May I introduce you to one of the most exceptional minds of this generation: Kalen.’

  Kalen walked to the front of the dais and waited until the applause died down. ‘Thank you for the warm welcome. Some of you may have helped me in my work to uncover the cause of the worrying things which have been happening in the village. I know I will be able to work much faster with Reagan’s help and I hope you will show him the same support you have shown me. I give you, your outstanding scholar: Reagan.’

  As he stepped forward, the Magi juniors stood with pride that one of their clan had achieved such a special honour. Within seconds, the Warrior and Outil juniors joined them. Reagan felt such an overpowering sense of love and support, he was close to tears. If only his mother were here to witness this, she might feel differently about him. Someone shouted “Speech” and everyone picked up on it round the room, chanting and stamping their feet until Malduc held up his hand for quiet. Reagan looked at the hundred or so faces below him and froze. What could he possibly say to express his appreciation of their approval and how thrilled he was to be a part of this exciting venture? Somehow, they all heard his thought, but he sensed they wanted more than this. His mouth dried as he tried to think of some way of letting this group of people who had been with him for the past six years know how much he loved them.

  As though this was her only purpose in life, Blaise rescued him, cantering through his mind. She did not need to do or say anything else. It was so obvious; he couldn’t understand why he didn’t work it out for himself. With a huge smile of relief, he raised his fist in the traditional salute and people joined in as he led the chant. ‘We are the Hengist, People of the Horse. Everyone is Special, Together we are Strong.’

  Each person in the room echoed the simple arm movements, ending with both arms crossed over their chest and both fists clenched. Then they all exchanged the victory handclasps. He turned to find the nearest person to him: his mother, with tears streaming down her face. She swept him up in a huge hug, whispering in his ear.

  ‘This is the proudest moment of my life. Well done, son.’

  He and his father exchanged a victory handclasp, then Reagan was surrounded by the other Worthies on the stage, all wanting to congratulate him. A strange feeling overwhelmed him, combining pleasure and pride from their recognition of his efforts, sorrow at the separation from his friends and comfortable routines, apprehension about what challenges the task would bring, and an underlying uneasiness about something he could not identify.

  15 Thearl the Artist

  ‘I cannot do this anymore, Kalen, I simply can’t.’

  ‘There’s no such word …’

  ‘Stop there. If you knew how much I hate that expression you would never use it again. I hate it because people who use it are so smug, but mostly I hate it because it so obviously is not true. There is a word can’t, it’s a contraction of the word cannot which is the negative of can from the verb to be able. And I am simply unable to do this anymore.’

  ‘I am duly chastised and humbled by your command of the English language and your ability to express yourself so eloquently. Be assured you can do it and will do it if only you allow yourself to.’ Kalen responded with the same pretentious verbosity.

  ‘I didn’t say I couldn’t do it ever, simply that I can’t do it anymore. I need a break. I need to recharge. Forty five minutes may not seem like very long to you, but I cannot keep up this level of concentration for this amount of time. You told me to listen to my body and mine is shouting. Very loudly. Things like “Are you trying to kill me?” Or worse.’ He delivered this speech with the same expressionless monotone Kalen often used when trying to impress on Reagan the importance of staying detached and objective when reviewing the evidence or practising a technique. As they’d been doing incessantly for the past three quarters of an hour.

  Kalen laughed. ‘If I didn’t know better, I would think it was me speaking. You have a good mimic’s ear, Reagan. Maybe you should be on the stage. What am I saying? If I continue to admire your abilities, your head will become so swollen you will believe there is nothing you cannot do. Then you will become as arrogant as me!’

  ‘Neither true, nor likely.’ Reagan stood and stretched. ‘I need a change of pace. My body is crying out for some kind of action. And I don’t mean your little torture chamber.’ The first time his mentor had demonstrated the techniques for training the mind to resist its natural responses to external physical stimuli, Reagan had dubbed the small room the torture chamber. Kalen had delighted in relating how Archer had chosen the same name.

  Kalen smiled. ‘Self-discipline is the only way to self-control. But you’re right; a change of scenery will benefit us both. We can come back to the difference between a mental whisper and shout when you’ve had a break.’ He stood and rolled his shoulders. ‘We’ve been sitting too long. I’ve got something to show you. Would you like a run? It’s a couple of miles.’

  ‘I think I can manage a couple of miles. Since I’m no longer training on the pell or quintain, I need something to release a bit of energy.’

  ‘Just in case I lose you, I’ll see you at Silburgh mound in twenty minutes.’ Kalen darted out of the room before his student had a chance to realise he was being duped.

  Reagan shrugged. If the old fellow wanted a head start, he only had to say. But even though he sprinted the first mile, he saw no sign of him. Unless he’d gone a different way. He slowed down for a minute to catch his breath, then sprinted even faster along the bank of the Kennet. As Kalen came level with Willow, Reagan almost asked her to slow him down. He decided against it, instead projecting a cheery hello in her direction.

  Kalen turned and waved, then his voice sounded in Reagan’s head. ‘Shame on you, thinking about playing tricks on an old man. Where’s your pride?’

  Reagan grinned and tried pushing his legs even faster, but he was well over his normal speed limit for this distance and would be lucky to make it the last half mile. “There’s no such word as can’t. If you think you can, you can.” Kalen’s words bombarded him from all sides. Somehow, it gave his mind the will to ignore the signals coming from his legs which were saying “we can’t” and messages from his lungs protesting they had no more puff left in them. The small voice in his brain kept repeating the chant, “if I think I can, I can.” Before he knew it, he was level with Kalen and they both reached the small hut at the bottom of the hill at the same time, bending over and panting. Reagan recovered first, but Kalen wasn’t far behind.

  ‘Not bad for someone over twice your age.’

  ‘You are thirty one?’

  ‘Of course. I forgot you just had a birthday. Two years ago I was twice your age.’ He knocked on the hut door but with no reply, and they heard a shout from the top of the hill. Kalen waved to the man and they started the climb.

  Something bothered Reagan and he tried to figure out what. ‘So you would have been fifteen, fifteen years ago when you won your prize.’

  ‘We can’t fool you with hard sums can we?’

  ‘No, it’s not that, it’s merely – no it’s gone. An idea started to form, but you chased it away with your jesting.’

  ‘Pardon me. But if it’s important it will be back. The best thing to do is to think away, then it’s more likely to sneak back. I’ve obviously scared it off.’

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nbsp; ‘Think what? Kalen, has that run mangled your brain? You’re talking garbage. Not that I would entirely notice the difference.’

  ‘And you’re being entirely disrespectful as usual. I don’t know why a grown man would tolerate such insolence from a scrap of a lad. Who can’t even run very fast.’ He pretended to cuff him. Reagan ducked, losing his footing on the steep hill, but Kalen’s quick reflexes caught him.

  The boy was undaunted as he continued to tease. ‘Because you like to have a bit of fun while you work and you find my witty quips irresistibly amusing. Explain “think away.”’

  ‘You profess such intellect, then can’t even decipher a simple concept like thinking away. Like your father, I refuse to make it easy for you. Come back and ask when you’ve tried to work it out for yourself. In the meantime, tell me what you’ve learnt since we left my office.’

  ‘That you’re twice my age and you run fast. For an old fellow.’

  ‘Not about me. What have you learnt about you?’

  ‘That I’m half your age and I don’t run very fast. For a stripling.’

  Kalen’s mouth twitched. ‘Sometimes, you’re so sharp you’re in danger of cutting something. But I’m hoping there’s more.’

  ‘Like the fact my mind is stronger than my muscles. Or that if I think I can, I really can.’

  Kalen chuckled and lowered his voice as they approached the man at the top of the hill. ‘Please show this man more respect than you show me. He deserves it.’

  After greeting his friend, Kalen turned to make the introductions. ‘Thearl, this is Reagan, my troublesome student. Reagan, this is Thearl, my very dear friend and the best painter you’re ever likely to meet.’

  Clasping Reagan’s hand, the man chuckled. ‘Don’t give the poor lad the wrong idea. We are barely acquainted and I am most certainly the best painter anyone will ever meet.’ He laughed at his own lack of humility. ‘Or not.’

  Reagan grinned, enjoying the man’s irreverent attitude to his craft. He looked at the hemp canvas on its wooden stand. The centre displayed a breath-taking view of Aveburgh henge viewed from above and the cathedral at Winchester stood in the bottom right corner. Opposite this, the tower at Glastonburgh reached proudly up toward the abbey at Gloucester. Nothing in the top right but a note saying: “Uff or Oxford?”

  Reagan knew straight away. ‘It can’t be Uffington. It has to be Oxford.’

  ‘You seem very sure. We’ve been puzzling over that for a while. What makes you so certain?’

  ‘The symmetry and the distances. If you draw a line from Winchester to Gloucester, it goes through Aveburgh in the centre. The Michael energy line runs from Glastonburgh through Aveburgh and continues to Oxford. Those four towns are on a circle centred at Aveburgh.’

  ‘You’re sure about this?’ Thearl seemed unconvinced.

  ‘Absolutely. There’s a similar picture in the council hall with the Swindon stone in the centre, surrounded by Uffington, Stonehenge and Westburgh white horse.’

  ‘A council commission. I wasn’t happy with it.’

  ‘It needed something opposite to balance Stonehenge.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Thearl raised his hands in triumph. ‘I can’t believe you would know that but the council refused to admit it.’

  ‘I started looking at maps to see what could go there and it wasn’t obvious. The Cherhill horse was too close.’

  ‘I know. I did think of the Seagry horse but I’m not fond of her, she faces the wrong way for a start.’

  ‘As does Uffington.’ Reagan had studied this horse well.

  ‘True. But she was the first, and is so elegant it doesn’t matter. The Seagry horse is small and not well sited.’

  ‘Nor well-maintained.’ Kalen spoke for the first time. ‘It’s almost as if she wants to sink back into the ground.’

  ‘No. That’s not possible is it?’ Reagan frowned.

  ‘It is. They re-cut the Westburgh Horse because the first one wasn’t quite right.’ Thearl had the unimpressed look again.

  ‘And the Ham hill horse. Didn’t they decide they’d used the wrong hill?’ Kalen tried to remember.

  ‘It’s something we could look into. If one of them had been cut in the wrong place, it could be causing a problem with the earth energies. We could call in on the librarie on the way back.’

  ‘Or just drop into Malduc’s office. He has a book about white horses.’ Kalen indicated time to go.

  16 Looking for Clues

  They spent some time researching everything about the white horses, but records were few and far between. A lot of information had been lost in a fire in the council house, and Reagan remembered Malduc’s expression when he told of his dream about a fire there. By piecing together facts from lots of different sources, they’d managed to get approximate dates for many of the horses. Reagan noticed a vague pattern in the dates, but he wanted to put them all in order and verify a few things first. He had a real sense of excitement, as though on the verge a great discovery. Some problem with the white horses which needed fixing to restore balance and harmony. He felt sure Blaise wanted to lead him to it.

  When they reported their progress to Malduc, he praised their efforts, but suggested they needed some direction. He picked up Reagan’s map showing nothing but the positions of the white horses and the monuments Blaise had taken him to. ‘Explain this again, the blue lines are from the first dream and the red lines from the second?’

  ‘Yes. She has repeated it several times. Start at Stonehenge, travelling north to Aveburgh on a shallow arc which goes up to the sanctuary. Then through West Kennet avenue, round the henge, down Beckhampton avenue and all the way back down to Stonehenge.’

  ‘So it’s like an elongated egg shape, then.’

  ‘Not exactly. An ellipse, with two lines of symmetry.’

  ‘And the red lines?’

  ‘Starting from Woodhenge, up to Uffington, then I didn’t recognise the next horse. I think it might have been Westburgh, but I wasn’t sure. She won’t move on until I identify the place by saying the name aloud.’

  ‘Westburgh would make a triangle.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. Can I have the map please?’ Reagan got a pencil and began drawing the connecting lines.

  ‘If it were a triangle, we would have a shape with two lines of symmetry, then a shape with three lines of symmetry. Maybe the next shape would have four, then five.’ Kalen preferred number patterns to shapes.

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. It looks more like a right angled triangle. It would have to be equilateral to have three lines of symmetry.’

  Malduc seemed to have gone into a trance as Kalen explored some ideas. ‘Maybe it’s about the angles. Right angled triangles give rise to some complicated mathematics which allows you to calculate angles. They are all to do with circles. Like the way the stones are placed in the henges so they are aligned with the summer and winter solstice.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  Reagan’s question went unanswered as Malduc’s eyes sprang open. ‘I think I have it.’ He got a clean slate, furiously scribbling down some letters and numbers. ‘Have I got this right? Stonehenge, Aveburgh, Woodhenge, Uffington?’

  ‘Yes.’ Reagan was startled by Malduc’s energy as he leapt out of his chair, frantically searching through the piles of books in his office as he spoke. ‘Then the next one is definitely Westburgh and I think the next one is …’ he turned round and strode over to the bookshelves, touching the spine of each book. ‘I can’t remember, Ham Hill or Milk Hill, one of the hills. How annoying! Somewhere, I have a book of all the hill horses, with beautiful illustrations. Where could it be?’

  ‘In my office, old man.’ Kalen grinned. ‘Have you forgotten you lent it to us less than a week ago? They couldn’t find the librarie copy, so you said we could borrow yours.’

  Slapping his forehead as if to knock some sense into it, Malduc sat down, a little deflated. ‘You are right. I am getting old and my memory isn’t what it used to be.’


  Reagan and Kalen exchanged a smile as Malduc launched into an explanation of his theory. ‘It’s not merely about the numbers or the shapes, it seems to be the timing. Look at the dates these were created.’

  On the slate he’d written:

  Stonehenge 3000BC

  Aveburgh 2500BC

  Woodhenge 2300BC

  Uffington 1000BC.

  He continued on, ‘The original Westburgh horse celebrated King Alfred the Great’s victory over the Danes at Ethandun in 878AD, although there is much uncertainty about how long after the battle it was created.’

  Kalen studied the numbers involved. ‘I can see the order, but there are no obvious patterns. Five hundred, two hundred, thirteen hundred and then nearly nineteen hundred.’

  ‘Are you looking at the differences in the dates?’

  ‘Yes. I thought there might be a relationship.’

  ‘That’s what I tried to do with the other horses,’ Reagan muttered, looking at Malduc’s shelves. ‘But there’s some information missing. Are there any more books or records which might give details?’

  ‘You’ve tried the librarie I suppose.’

  ‘First place we looked.’ Kalen went over to examine the titles as Malduc explained a little more to Reagan.

  ‘A smith in Marlburgh became a local expert after the great fire; it became his grand passion. In fact, he wrote that book you borrowed.’

  ‘Could we talk to him?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. He was three score and ten when he started writing the book after many years spent visiting places, making sketches and interviewing people.’