The Bone Quill

by Barrowman, John

  ‘It will be there when you return,’ he said, ‘in the event that I am not.’

  Em gave Duncan a hug. ‘Thank you for taking care of our mum.’

  ‘You’re welcome, my dear.’

  Em hooked her arm in her mother’s as Sandie started sketching. Simon gripped Matt’s undershirt as Matt did the same. Two pictures of the centre panel in the tapestry began to illuminate.

  FORTY-ONE

  The Abbey

  Present Day

  In the Abbey’s library, it was close to midnight. Renard, Jeannie and Zach were up late, playing a long, slow game of The Settlers of Catan. After moving one of his armies, Zach spotted the particles of light above the still-life explode into bright stars of white light and then fade to the faintest glimmer.

  ‘What do ye think just happened, Mr R?’ asked Jeannie.

  ‘I wish I knew,’ said Renard heavily. ‘I wish I knew.’

  PART THREE

  FORTY-TWO

  The Monastery of Era Mina

  Middle Ages

  Hunched over his desk, the Abbot was struggling with thorny choices – decisions that the first monks of the Order had also had to make when faced with insurrection, and monks wanting to use their powers in unsanctioned ways.

  Solon’s battle with the Grendel in Skinner’s Bog the previous night had not gone unnoticed in the imaginations of the monastery’s Guardians. One or two of them had experienced such anguish when the fight was at its most intense that they had locked themselves in their cells and refused to come out. Although he didn’t yet know the details, the Abbot’s Guardian talents meant that he knew enough. He knew about the Grendel’s attack.

  The Grendel had always been the beast that lurked closest to the world of men, and it was the last creature from ancient times that the monks needed to draw into The Book of Beasts. If only Brother Renard hadn’t damaged himself to the point where the book could no longer be finished! Freeing the peryton had been a terrible mistake. It had weakened the Order’s control over Hollow Earth, and roused the Grendel from its slumber. By animating the peryton, Brother Renard had achieved nothing but a fleeting victory against the Norsemen, who were likely to come again, and soon. Releasing the peryton from Hollow Earth might have started a chain of events that even the Abbot struggled to imagine. Releasing the peryton might have awakened the island itself. God help them all if that were true.

  The Abbot pushed the unfinished Book of Beasts aside and dipped his quill in the ink well, tapping the nib against the side of the clay pot and letting the black liquid settle in the shaved point. He returned to the task of the Abbey’s accounts, hoping the tedious copying from one register to another would distract him from his worries.

  The list of the monthly tithes from the farms was growing, the monastery’s accumulating wealth becoming a matter of concern. Whenever money gathered in one place, violence surely followed. The monks might have built a self-sustaining community on these islands, but they had not completely cut themselves off from the world.

  The Abbot sighed, noting the ink had smudged on the line of figures he’d been dawdling over. Reaching across his desk, he grabbed a square of cheesecloth to clean up his spill.

  The colourful tapestry that covered most of the wall behind the Abbot’s desk shifted slightly in the wind battering the shutters. The carpet of cloth blazed with illumination, threads of gold, red and black creating a stunning history of the monastery in large, stitched panels. It was the Abbot’s own masterpiece, a work that he had imagined on woodblocks and smaller parchment before finally finishing, tying the closing knots on the final panel in a bid to soothe his mind while Solon battled in the bog.

  The Abbot ran his calloused fingers across the rough knots of thread on the reverse side of the cloth. He prayed that it would not be the last legacy he might ever leave.

  Rising from his chair – a high-backed wooden throne carved with the Abbey’s coat of arms – the Abbot walked across to the shuttered window. He peered through the slats at the storm slipping slowly over the island. Out there in the darkness, the rocky cliffs and peaks of the islands were pocked with unlit bonfires. When set alight, the fires created a chain running the length of the Western Isles, calling men to arms against any invading armies.

  But what, thought the Abbot, if the enemy came from within the Abbey itself?

  FORTY-THREE

  The darkness! The black peryton’s shadow … It is seeping towards us.

  The darkness of which Brother Renard spoke in his story of the twin perytons and the perils tied to the unfinished Book of Beasts was close. Solon had been sensing it for days. And now he had witnessed two of his trusted brothers desecrating the sacred crypt and talking as if they wished him dead. Who was this prophet they spoke of? What was the significance of the bone quill they were seeking? And why did they want The Book of Beasts? He had to speak to the Abbot about all of it.

  The water had receded a little. Solon waded across the flooded courtyard in the descending darkness. Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, he lifted a torch hanging in an iron bracket above him, and climbed the steep stairs of the Abbot’s tower.

  A loud knock shook the door. In a rush, the Abbot grabbed The Book of Beasts from his desk and slid it into the hidden compartment behind the coat of arms in his high-backed chair. He did not notice the first page fluttering from the folio and under his desk.

  ‘Enter,’ he said.

  A draught of cold air rushed into the chamber, followed by a dirty and dishevelled Solon.

  ‘I am glad to see that you survived your mission to Skinner’s Bog, Solon,’ said the Abbot. ‘I sensed your struggles and the terrible strength of the Grendel. You retrieved the berries?’

  Solon nodded breathlessly. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier, Father Abbot. I … I needed to sleep and then I lost all sense of time today.’

  ‘Brother Cornelius dressed your wounds, I see,’ said the Abbot. ‘I sensed someone else with you – a girl?’

  ‘A Viking girl, master. She was badly injured. Brother … Brother Cornelius said that he would see to her wounds.’

  ‘Quickly, close the door. You’re bringing the storm in here with you.’ The Abbot waved Solon to a stool. ‘Did this Viking girl tell you anything that might be useful to us? Is another attack as imminent as the naysayers among the brothers seem to think?’

  ‘Only that the Norsemen left her for dead.’

  ‘Is she a young woman the minstrels may one day sing about?’ the Abbot inquired.

  Solon blushed and nodded. The Abbot smiled kindly.

  ‘And I have sensed that she has faculties that suggest she may be one of us?’

  Solon nodded again. ‘It surprised me, sir,’ he said. ‘I was not aware that girls could be like us in that way.’

  ‘It is quite unusual to find a girl with our imaginative gifts,’ said the Abbot. ‘I daresay there are more among us than we will ever discover. For it is far too easy for a girl or a woman with our faculties to be dismissed as a witch or worse. The price they must pay is far too high.’

  ‘Please, Father Abbot,’ said Solon in a rush, ‘I am grateful for your interest, but my visit here tonight carries great urgency. The unfinished manuscript, The Book of Beasts, is it safe?’

  The Abbot looked startled by the question. ‘It is hidden,’ he said. ‘Why—’

  At that moment, the door blew open and then just as quickly slammed closed. Startled, the Abbot and Solon looked around. There was no one inside or outside the room.

  And yet … a chill lingered, swirling round them. The Abbot shivered, rubbing his arms for warmth. He felt the atmosphere in the room changing. An animation, a creation from another powerful imagination was forming nearby.

  ‘Solon,’ he said, panic rising in his voice, ‘whatever is coming, it must not find the island’s secrets.’

  A squall of wind snapped open the shutters, lifting the tapestry off the wall with such force that it flew up towards the beamed ceiling. When it unfu
rled, two bodies – a woman and a boy – toppled out, covered in a webbing of red, black and golden threads.

  FORTY-FOUR

  At first Solon was too stunned to move. The lines of interlacing light covering the woman and the boy were like a giant spider’s web. He jolted to his senses when the Abbot exclaimed, ‘By God in the heavens! Who are you?’

  ‘My name is Sandie Calder, sir, and this is my daughter, Emily. We are Animare.’

  ‘Daughter?’ asked Solon in astonishment, taking in the girl’s clothes.

  The woman brushed the dust off her dress and helped the girl disentangle herself from the tapestry. Solon offered the girl his hand to help her off the ground, while the Abbot assisted the woman.

  ‘Were you hiding in the rafters?’ asked Solon, staring up at the heavy wooden beams, then back at the girl, his eyes wide.

  ‘Not exactly,’ said the girl, adjusting her tunic.

  Her cap was on the floor. Solon picked it up and handed it over. ‘Is your coloured hair a mark of your clan?’ he asked curiously.

  ‘In a way,’ said the girl, accepting the hat.

  ‘We don’t have much time to explain,’ said the woman, ‘but our future needs your help.’

  The Abbot listened closely to Sandie’s story about a force from the future infiltrating the monastery, intent on stealing the bone quill and The Book of Beasts. As absurd as Sandie’s story sounded, given the rising disquiet among the Order, and recent thefts of food from the kitchen, the Abbot was inclined to believe her. The emotions he was reading from her served to support the tale.

  ‘What can I do to help?’ he asked at last.

  ‘I know that you will not give up the bone quill or The Book of Beasts. I don’t expect that from you,’ said Sandie. ‘These are your sacred relics, symbols of your ancient past, and they should remain part of this world. But I am asking that you send them from the islands until you find the person or the thing that lurks here out of time.’

  ‘Solon,’ said the Abbot. ‘Find our guests two strong mugs of mead and stoke the fire. I must consult with Brother Cornelius on this matter. I will return with a decision shortly.’

  Solon looked dismayed. ‘Master, there is more that I must tell—’

  But the Abbot had already shut the door.

  The storm had shifted inland, leaving choppy waters lapping at the steps of many of the monastery buildings. Waves were crashing against the monastery’s outer walls too, sending even more dampness seeping through the mortar.

  Before finding Brother Cornelius, the Abbot felt an urge to check on the safety of the bone quill. Tugging his hood over his head, he pushed into the wind, half-running and half-walking through the covered cloisters, not stopping until he reached a section of the wall where the bricks shimmered subtly as if shafts of moonlight were illuminating them, their corners furling and unfurling like the arms of a starfish.

  Standing in front of this section of bricks, the Abbot took a key from inside his wide sleeve and slid it into the midsection of the bricks. Instantly, a small, arched, wooden door shielded behind an animation was revealed.

  Ducking his head, the Abbot went into the passageway behind the door. Twenty steps in, he turned into a tunnel on his left that opened up into the chamber of the crypts.

  The chamber was awash with the yellow light of a flaming torch and thick with the iron smell of blood. Brother Cornelius’s broken body lay on the top of the first martyr’s tomb, two gold coins covering his eyes. They glimmered at the Abbot with the grotesque illusion of life.

  Bile rushed to the Abbot’s mouth. He ran to the farthest corner of the chamber and vomited. He remained crouched there for a long time, praying. Then he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and forced himself to take stock of the rest of the chamber.

  The lines running through the sand on the stony ground suggested more than one scuffle had occurred here recently. Averting his eyes from poor Brother Cornelius, the Abbot gaped at the desecrated bodies of the mummies. Finally, he detected the worst horror of all in this sacred space.

  The bone quill was gone.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Matt and Simon were not so lucky, animating through the tapestry directly into the rising tide outside the kitchens, the lashing rain and gale-force wind slashing against their exposed skin.

  Pulling himself on to his feet, Matt looked around for Simon. The older man was in much deeper water, wading towards him. His cassock looked as if it weighed a hundred kilos. The two of them climbed up the rocky shoreline and collapsed.

  ‘Well,’ said Matt, spitting seaweed from his mouth, ‘that was no fun.’

  ‘I am not dragging this much weight around,’ said Simon, stripping off his cassock to the jeans and T-shirt he still wore underneath. He held his hand out to Matt. ‘Let’s get to shelter, try to dry off and figure out how to get down to the catacombs.’

  The two of them sloshed into the outbuilding nearest where they had materialized. Skinned rabbits and deer hung from the rafters, sharing space with flocks of de-feathered pigeons.

  ‘Oh, man,’ said Matt, ‘an abattoir? I’m not hanging out … sorry … staying in here.’

  The next building better suited their needs. With wide wooden doors that could be open or closed depending on the weather, it held a hearth big enough for even Simon to stand inside. The fire was raging and three heavy iron pots hanging from hooks at chimney height were bubbling and steaming. The fuggy warmth was bliss.

  Em, can you hear me?

  Yes! Where are you guys?

  I think we’re in one of the kitchens, close to the water, which is where we landed. We need dry clothes or we’re going to freeze to death.

  Mum and I are at the top of the Abbot’s tower. Our swimming pool is built over its foundations. The Abbot’s really nice, although very confused. There’s a totally hot boy, too.

  Great. So glad you’ve met a boy. Focus, Em. Ask Mum how we can get some clothes.

  Simon dragged two stools as close to the fire as possible and was ladling thick yellow broth from one of the pots into wooden bowls. Holding one bowl up to his face, he inhaled the warmth.

  ‘You were just talking to Em in your head, right? Where are they?’ he asked, passing Matt a bowl of the broth.

  ‘In one of the towers with the Abbot and a cute boy.’

  Simon laughed. ‘I’m glad they came through safely.’

  The broth smelled delicious, and Matt realized he was really hungry. But given what he’d just seen hanging in the abattoir, he wasn’t sure he was going to let any of this liquid pass his lips.

  ‘Drink up,’ said Simon. ‘It’s leeks and turnips. It won’t kill you.’

  Mum says draw dry clothes.

  And so Matt did. Problem was, he knew nothing about the fashions of the Middle Ages. All he could think of were his favourite movies set in medieval times.

  ‘Think leggings, leather boots, tunics, waistcoats,’ said Simon. ‘Nothing flashy, but I’d appreciate some dry boxers, please.’

  ‘No way am I animating you a pair of boxers,’ said Matt.

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Simon, warming himself at the blazing fire. ‘But your mum’s idea to animate dry clothes was a good one. They’ll give off a sheen of light, which we’ll need, since we don’t have any torches. But we should hurry. Someone’s bound to return to this building soon.’

  Matt finished his soup, then set about animating outfits for each of them. Simon’s dry clothes shot from the paper to his feet in streamers of swirling grey light, while Matt’s appeared on his lap in a tower of coloured rectangles, dropping one on top of the other, largest to smallest.

  When the storm subsided, Simon and Matt went outside to investigate the other buildings, looking like glow-in-the-dark characters from Monty Python’s Holy Grail.

  It didn’t take them long to find the door to the catacombs tucked away in the last of the three kitchen buildings. Several casks of wine had been rolled away from where they had been blocking the door.

 
‘Let’s just go down,’ said Matt. ‘We can scout around and then when we get Mum’s go-ahead to find the quill, we’ll already be on the spot.’

  Simon slid down the wall to the floor. ‘We wait here, Matt,’ he said, sounding shattered. ‘The less interference we can cause to this time, the better.’

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Matt, joining Simon against the wall.

  ‘I’m thinking time-travel may have an adverse effect on anyone over forty.’

  ‘Doesn’t everything have an adverse effect on anyone over forty?’ said Matt, grinning.

  ‘Watch it, buddy,’ said Simon. ‘I’m serious. I’m exhausted. No wonder Duncan can’t travel any more. I feel as if I’ve inspirited a crowd of people and I’ve been awake for days.’

  ‘More like centuries.’

  Matt! Can you hear me?

  Matt sat up. What’s wrong?

  Everything.

  Simon was dozing. Matt nudged him awake. ‘It’s Mum and Em. We have to go.’

  Mum says we’re too late. Someone’s already stolen the bone quill and murdered one of the monks. The Abbot just came back from the catacombs. He’s really upset. Mum says meet us on the hillside behind the Abbot’s tower right away. Stay away from the main buildings.

  Matt and Simon hastily made sure they had left no trace in the kitchen of their presence. Then they sprinted outside, along the garden path. When two monks, heads bowed in deep conversation, came walking towards them, they ducked into the woods, cutting through the trees and up the hillside behind the tower. The partially built walls of the tower on Era Mina loomed at them across the bay.

  FORTY-SIX

  ‘There they are,’ said Em, spotting the faint ethereal glow from Simon’s and Matt’s clothing as they jogged through the trees.