Rory (Hengist-People of the Horse Book 2)

by Jacky Gray

  Kalen’s chuckle was pure mischief. When Archer’s self-control was such that he stopped flinching at the feigned threat, Kalen actually touched him gently with a fingertip.

  The torment started all over again as Archer learnt to resist the touch. Then, when he finally seemed to have controlled this reaction, the real nasty stuff started.

  ‘No, stop. Please, I cannot take any more.’

  ‘You can and you will.’ Kalen’s voice was cold and hard. ‘You must learn not to react when someone threatens you. If you flinch in fear, the bullying will never end.’

  ‘I understand. I can do it, just not when I cannot breathe.’ Archer’s voice was hoarse.

  ‘I will not cease while you continue to react. You can make it end by showing you are no longer affected. If you stop breathing, I will have to breathe for you. I think you can guess how unpleasant that would be.’

  Archer had watched Kalen revive a child who had fallen from a horse and stopped breathing. It looked uncomfortably close to a kiss as the trainer covered the child’s mouth with his own. The thought sobered Archer; he gulped air into his lungs. It was no good, a searing pain had tears running down his cheeks. ‘Please, let me get my breath back and we can start again. No please, Kalen, just a minute, I beg you. Do not bring that thing near me … nooo!!!’

  Archer’s scream brought Niall, a senior professor, running into the room with a look of impatience on his face. ‘For goodness sake, Archer. I heard you from the jousting yard. I thought you were made of sterner stuff than that.’

  ‘Please Professor, make him stop, I need time to recover.’

  ‘Nonsense. You must learn to endure under the greatest of stress.’ He grinned wickedly at Kalen. ‘Have you tried his ear?’

  ‘Not yet, I saved that for the end; it doesn’t get much worse. But I don’t want him to damage his neck trying to resist.’

  ‘Let me do it. I love this bit.’ Taking the feather, Niall used a circular motion to tease and tickle the sensitive flesh around Archer’s ear.

  Niall was denied his fun.

  The presence of his demanding physical instructor did the trick. Somehow, while they were talking, Archer regained some breath and with it, some composure. He now had his laughing reflex firmly under lock and key, so no matter what Niall did with the feather, he remained immobile and impassive. He had reached what Kalen called “the cold face” – a state of self-control so strong that no words or deeds had any impact.

  ‘Not bad for your first session. You will not scream like a girl next time.’ Niall threw the feather down as though it was over.

  ‘No I will not.’ Even as Archer spoke, he knew it to be a ruse, an attempt to crack his composure. Sure enough, with no feather, Niall used his fingertips to tickle the sensitive flesh under Archer’s arms and down his sides to waist level. This time, Archer did not so much as blink.

  ‘Excellent. Well done. You can release him now.’

  3 Robin Hood meets William Tell

  After Archer’s wild imaginings, they had merely used the bungee to strap him to a tree.

  As they capered around like fools, aiming pretend punches, Archer couldn’t help but compare this predicament to when he was tied to a poisonous yew tree and tormented. No contest. This time he was in no danger from the lime tree’s harmless bark or the poison of the gang leader’s hatred. Peter’s schemes were nothing personal. Just by being there, Archer provided a natural target.

  Every waking moment tested his ability to endure their latest scheme with as little damage to himself or his surroundings as possible. If they got hurt by his resistance to their intended punishment, he felt no qualm. An accidental elbow in the ribs, a crushed toe when he overbalanced; it was no more than they deserved. But his strong sense of honour, instilled by many hours of warrior training, meant punches were always pulled at the last instant, so they never felt the full force of his blows.

  They acted tough, but they had no experience of real conflict. He was sure if they were faced with just a pell for an opponent, the wooden stake would probably best them. An image of their ineffectual tussling against an inanimate tree trunk brought an involuntary grin to Archer’s face.

  Jack noticed. ‘Look guys, he’s smiling. He must like this.’

  ‘He’s a freak.’ Peter had to go one better. ‘They’ve got a name for people who like pain.’

  ‘Satanist or something.’ Kyle tried to join in, but he shrivelled at the scorn in Jack’s voice.

  ‘No, dummy, you mean masochist. A sadist is someone who likes hurting other people.’

  ‘That would be you three then. Sadists.’ Archer regretted the provocation as Peter slapped his face. He could not resist as his movements were restricted by the bungee cords.

  ‘Yeah, we’re sadists all right and you’re just a pussy.’

  ‘He’s a faggot, too girly to fight like a man.’

  If only they knew. Memories of far more intense battles fought for Archer’s attention. His lip curled in contempt at the puny attempts of these inadequate adversaries to test his will. Retreating into the battle room within his mind, he presented them with the cold face while his warrior gifts took over and evaluated the options. Whilst he knew the trio continued to fling insults at him, he was impervious to their words.

  Subtly testing the cords binding his body, he felt a little movement in each one. Unlike the thick twine he knew, it yielded as he forced his weight against it. He sensed that the cords would not become taut enough to break without a great deal of effort on his part. The boys would notice long before he could work up enough strength to do the job. It soon became obvious Peter had not been very smart, relying on the tension round his forearms to restrain his hands. He could free them without too much difficulty and …

  Archer’s escape strategy was never completed as an urgent message screamed in from the portion of his brain he’d left on sentry duty. He tuned back in to his aggressors to hear the end of Peter’s instruction. ‘… you guys stay here and watch him while I get an apple and his bow. Back in a tick.’

  ‘It’s like Robin Hood meets William Tell.’ Kyle was elated. Archer could not stop the alarm from reaching his eyes.

  Jack saw it. ‘Finally he wakes up and takes some notice. We’ve got you worried now haven’t we?’

  Archer brought the shutters down immediately and his voice became neutral, almost bored. ‘Only because I have become used to seeing the world through two eyes. I’m sure I will adjust to having one.’

  ‘What, are you saying he’ll miss and hit you in the eye?’ Kyle seemed fascinated.

  ‘If I’m very unlucky. Has he used a longbow before?’

  ‘I dunno.’ Kyle looked at Jack.

  ‘Course he has.’ He mimed firing an arrow from a bow. ‘We all had bows and arrows when we was little.’

  Archer suppressed a smile, knowing Peter probably wouldn’t have the strength to even string the bow, let alone pull the string back with sufficient force to loose an arrow. The bored voice returned. ‘I should have no problem then. He will shoot the apple straight off my head. No part of my body will be pierced by the barbed tip travelling at the speed of an express train.’ He had spent many hours reading about methods of modern transport and could not begin to imagine travelling at speeds four times faster than a galloping horse.

  ‘No way.’ Jack’s voice was full of scorn. ‘It can’t go as fast as a train; it’s only a bit of wood and string.’

  ‘A train travels at one hundred and twenty-five miles every hour. A shaft from a longbow travels at one hundred and twenty-four miles every hour. I would say that’s close.’

  ‘So you could kill someone with your bow?’ Kyle seemed surprised. Of the three of them, he was the one who might possibly have a redeeming feature. He had obviously paid more attention than the others to the scant studies they seemed to do in this world. Archer was astounded by how little the boys knew about important things like the seasons, plants and hunting.

  Archer fixed Kyle with
a hard stare. ‘Have you not read anything about the success of the English longbow in medieval wars? The archers struck terror into the heart of every Frenchman.’

  ‘Yeah but it’s just old-fashioned nonsense. It’s all fairy tales like Robin Hood and King Arthur.’ Kyle dismissed them with a sneer; however Archer knew most historical tales were based on facts and actual people.

  ‘In two minutes, Pete’s going to come back with your bow.’ Jack mimicked Archer’s tone exactly as he paraphrased his words. ‘Maybe he’ll strike terror into your heart.' He emphasised with a pretend punch to his victim's chest. 'Then you won’t be so smug about all your fancy facts and figures.’

  Archer did not move a muscle, watching as Kyle traded a high-five. They appeared to be anticipating this with great enjoyment. Then the back door was flung open. Despite his training, Archer flinched.

  4 Eco-warrior

  It was not Peter but his mother Julie, calling them in for dinner. The boys ran off, giving Archer the opportunity to free himself using the strategy he’d worked out earlier. A moment’s deliberation suggested there might be more to gain by letting them think he was helpless in this constraint. They would be more likely to use it again which would put him at an advantage.

  Sure enough, a few moments later, Kyle came out and fiddled at the back of the tree. The cords dropped, one pair at a time. Kyle grabbed the device and stuffed it under his jumper, fixing on his fiercest face as he threatened, ‘You’d better not say anything, or you’ll be in serious trouble.’

  Trying to give the impression of someone intimidated by such threats, Archer ran back to the house and straight up to his room. There was no sign of Peter, however every cupboard and drawer had been emptied and their contents strewn over the floor.

  Dave walked past the open door and looked in, frowning. ‘I don’t know how you lived before, but we keep things tidy in this house. Get that lot cleared before you come down to dinner.’

  After closing the door, Archer bent down and felt underneath the bed. He had tied loops of string to two ends of the frame and his bow was nestling in the loops. It had not been moved. The encyclopaedia on the shelf mentioned a device called a Yale lock, and he resolved to buy one with the money he had been given. With that securing the door, no-one could enter the room without his permission.

  He didn’t have many possessions, so it didn’t take long to restore order to the room; however one of the books had a torn page. When he showed her the damage, Julie calmly promised to fix it after the meal.

  It took no more than a minute to repair the tear so it was almost invisible. Afterwards, he watched her using the clear, sticky tape to wrap a box of what she called chocolates in patterned paper. She offered him one from another box and he took the brightly coloured package and stared at it uncertainly.

  ‘It’s hazelnut, don’t you like them? There’s a strawberry cream or caramel if you can’t eat nuts.’

  He watched as she pulled the two ends apart and it untwisted. Copying her actions, he saw that under the purple crackly material, a shiny silver wrapping covered something smooth and brown. He hesitated; its appearance was close to something not normally eaten by humans. His eyes narrowed. If Dave had offered it, he would have been wary. The man had a strange sense of humour and seemed to enjoy the suffering of boys, even his own son.

  Julie couldn’t have been more different; her kind concern and constant toil reminded Archer of the women he knew back home. She would not be trying to torment him. As his brain evaluated her motivation, his senses appraised the object. It was shaped and patterned to look like a nut and did not smell offensive.

  Holding it closer to his nose, he sniffed a milky scent. Tentatively sticking out his tongue, he licked it, fearing the worst, and was pleasantly surprised by the sweetness. Biting through a small portion, his taste buds were assaulted by an explosion of flavour as it melted inside his mouth. He was smitten.

  She watched him curiously. ‘Have you never tasted chocolate?’

  He shook his head, unable to reply as he had just taken a bite containing hazelnut, something he recognised.

  She frowned. ‘I’ve heard of people who won’t have a TV in the house, but not to give a kid chocolate, that’s really mean.’

  He swallowed, quick to reassure her. ‘They are not mean; we have plenty of sweetmeats, made with honey or fruit. How do you make chocolate?’

  ‘From cocoa beans grown in hot places like Brazil. I’m not sure if we can grow them in this country. Maybe in a greenhouse. Have another one.’

  ‘Thank you. Why does this one only have one jacket when the others have two?’

  ‘Jacket? Oh you mean wrapper. No, they all have one unless there’s been an accident on the machine and they get double wrapped.’

  ‘This one just has a shiny wrapper.’

  ‘Foil.’

  ‘You mean like a sword for fencing?’ He had read about modern day fencing with foils and epees, it was as close as he got to the sports he knew.

  She looked curious. ‘You do seem to know about some strange things. How would you know about a fencing foil but not know about the silver foil we use to wrap food?’

  ‘My people live simple lives. We do not have much in the way of techonol … technology.’

  ‘Silver foil isn’t technology; it’s been around forever. Well, since the fifties anyway.’

  ‘The eighteen fifties?’

  ‘I was actually thinking of the nineteen fifties. You know, after the second world war when they were doing all that space-race stuff. I wasn’t very good at history at school. I preferred English and the arts.’

  Archer still had questions. ‘So this silver foil is used to wrap food. Why would you need to wrap chocolate? Surely the chocolate is already wrapped around the nut.’

  ‘Because if it gets hot, the chocolates will melt and stick together.’ Julie deftly folded a corner of the wrapping paper and fastened it with the tape.

  ‘They are already in this paper box. Is that not sufficient?’

  ‘Cardboard. It’s like stiff paper.’

  ‘Why do you not just put the cardboard box somewhere cool so they will not melt?’

  ‘It does sound simple when you put it like that, but these were probably made a few months ago and the sell by date is,’ she turned the box over and several of the chocolates fell out. ‘Oops … March next year.’

  Archer held the purple material in front of his eyes and grinned as everything he looked at turned purple.

  Smiling at his simple enjoyment, Julie gathered up the fallen sweets and put them back in the box. ‘Why don’t you have a couple of those?’

  ‘No thank you, they are quite rich.’

  ‘Well you are the strange one. I’ve never known a kid to refuse chocolate.’

  Concerned by her curiosity about his previous life, he tried to divert her attention. ‘I’m sorry to ask so many questions but there is so much here I do not understand.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, love. It’s a pleasure to have a lad take such an interest. You ask away.’

  ‘I’m still confused by the purpose of this decorated paper. Is paper not a precious thing here?’

  She laughed. ‘You sound just like my sister Dawn. She’s a real eco-warrior. That’s what we call someone who cares about the environment. She recycles everything; separates out all the glass and cans, paper and plastic, even the foil lids from the butter.’

  Reaching for a carrier bag for the present, she smiled. ‘And don’t get her started about these; it’s like her own personal crusade.’

  Archer didn’t understand half of the words, however the sentiment was clear. ‘It seems very much like my people. Every basin of water we wash in is used again to wash the animals. Water used to clean vegetables is poured over growing plants. But paper – that takes so much time and energy to make, it is only used for something worthy of recording.’

  ‘So how do you learn things at school?’

  ‘We use slates and chalk for calcu
lations, everything else is stored in the mind.’

  ‘Don’t you forget things? I could never remember the formulas in maths. I had to write them down and look at them several times.’

  ‘If you use something often you will remember it. Each child has one notebook for important things; otherwise there are books in the library.’

  ‘That does sound sensible; we get so much junk mail every day and all the free newspapers nobody ever reads.’ She sighed. ‘You’ve made me feel guilty now about this wrapping paper, but if I didn’t wrap it, she would know what it was and there would be no surprise. Do you not wrap gifts?’

  ‘Oh I see now. We have cloth bags which can be re-used. The men give a plain bag but the women make them pretty with ribbons and flowers and fruit.’

  ‘It’s the same here. Men just use the shop’s carrier bag, but women wrap gifts. Most people like to tear the paper off; it’s part of the fun. We just throw it away and don’t worry about the waste. Except Dawn. She always opens it carefully and uses the paper to wrap another present.’

  Archer thought about the conversation later, as he researched eco-warrior in the encyclopaedia. These people showed very little respect for the natural world around them. There was so much waste of effort, materials and especially food; the opposite of everything he had been brought up to believe.

  The next day, he examined the apple tree in the garden; it had been badly neglected and most of the previous year’s crop was rotting on the garbage pile. He heard the back door closing and prepared for another assault, but Julie waved and hurried over.

  She shook her head at the decomposing apples. ‘I know, it’s a crying shame all that waste, but I don’t have time and Dave … he’s busy too.’

  Archer could tell she was embarrassed by the lie and was touched by her loyalty to her lazy husband. He broke the awkward silence. ‘Does no-one grow their own food here?’

  ‘Not really. A few herbs maybe, like in my rockery. I think they grow spuds and rhubarb next door, but generally it’s all mass-produced on farms.’