Sanctuary (Order of the Ring Book 1)

by Phil Maxey

  “This is definitely the doing of the deep state,” said RagBone45.

  “Cosmic particles from the sun, they know about it, but aren’t telling the public,” said another.

  She was used to this kind of banter anytime something dramatic was happening around the world, but usually she came onto the messaging board to find offers of work. Small innocuous hacking jobs that would pay well and had minimal risk of being caught. She had started the day hoping there would be some posted, but with only an hour to go on her birthday before a new day started she wasn’t sure what she wanted. She owned a shop. What the hell am I going to do with a shop? A bookshop? Are printed books a thing anymore?

  Maybe, her mother was right and the best thing was to sell it. Twenty minutes after they had returned from the home, her mother knew the exact market value of the two-hundred-year-old shop with an upstairs flat in need of some modernization. If it weren’t for the fact that it was only four days to Christmas day, Kat was sure her mother would have had the property on the market and sold within a week. It was worth a lot of money. But even though the past few years since her father had gone had been a struggle, she couldn’t see what she would do with the proceeds of selling it. Better laptop? She was never interested in travelling, preferring the online world to the real one and clothes, cars, and such never really appealed to her. Regardless she couldn’t shake the feeling that her grandfather left her the place for something more than financial gain.

  She hadn’t had a chance to read the rest of the letter since she had been back, due to her mother battering her brain with things they could do with a few hundred thousand pounds, but now her mum had retired for the evening she had peace and quiet, with only the wind howling on the other side of her window to keep her company.

  She leaned over and picked up the envelope. The ring was next to it. She had done as Arnold had instructed and not tried it on before reading anymore. Maybe he wanted her to have it refitted to her finger size or something.

  Quickly running past what she had already read, she continued.

  “I understand you may not have experience running a bookshop, but to be honest the old place has been closed for a number of years now and could do with a makeover and new ownership! I do hope you keep it as a bookshop and don’t turn it into one of those obscene coffee places. The world needs more stories not more caffeine—” She chuckled then continued. “—Anyway, above the shop is, well was, my humble abode. I’m sure it will clean up nice for you. I had a feeling you wanted to have your own roof over your head, and now you have one. The place also has a basement, which is locked and was my study area. Beyond my study are tunnels, which I’m sure you will explore in time. It also contains many valuable items and books. The ring will open that door—” she looked at the ornate ring on her desk and wondered how a ring could be used to unlock anything, then kept reading, moving onto the second page.

  “About the ring. It is a very special piece of jewelry, in fact I wouldn’t even call it that, it’s more a tool which I hope is your fate to wield. I can’t be sure of course, none in the seven houses can ever be sure who the rings are suited for as many have tried them on over the ages including myself, but each ring chooses who it bestows its gifts upon. The last time a ring did, was about two hundred years ago, but since then nobody else. Usually there is a ceremony when a custodian tries the ring on for the first time, but you won’t have that opportunity and I fear if you do not claim it for yourself, others less suited may try to take it from you. When you do slip it onto your finger you may feel some discomfort and disorientation, so maybe try it on in a quiet place by yourself. I have watched you from afar for many years and have always suspected you are destined for greater things.”

  Kat’s hand dropped to the desk still clasping the letters. What?

  A feeling of sadness and recognition then washed over her. His illness had obviously claimed his mind when he wrote these words. The pages felt heavy as she lifted them to read once again.

  “Finally, I'm sorry I was not able instruct you more in the ways of the ring and your connection to the seven houses but we each must walk our own paths, it is the way of things.” The same phrase from her dream grandfather jumped into her mind then was instantly pushed away. “But my books and journals should provide you with a good start. Until we meet in Avalon, best wishes, Arnold.”

  Avalon? The place in my dream? Placing the letters down, a mild feeling of disorientation came over her. She felt as if she was slowly being swallowed by her grandfather’s insanity. She looked at the ring again, and decided against trying it on tonight, she was too tired and wasn’t sure her mind was in the right place for any more weirdness.

  She got undressed and crawled into bed, just as her worst ever birthday came to an end.

  CHAPTER 9

  Justin’s stomach was full as he sat at the biggest dining table he had ever seen. Pheasant and what he presumed was boar, together with roasted potatoes, vegetables, and a rich gravy soon removed any of the chills he may have picked up when he was in the grounds of the house. Each of the twenty chairs at the table was filled with an assortment of men and women the likes of which he had only seen in films and television. He also couldn’t believe just how in-character they all were. He heard tales of fighting giant serpents in the bowels of the earth, to what spells to use to keep Draugr’s at bay. Which he discovered was what they were calling the thing that jumped at him in the gardens. Because he stumbled upon this strange hotel in Oxford, he had no idea how to keep up the ruse like everyone else was, so decided to just sit and enjoy the rich feast that was in front of him. He was also fully aware that one night was all he could afford and kept glancing at the windows in the vain hope that the large white flakes would stop building up on the outside window seals, so he could leave early the next morning.

  Once everyone had finished their meals, a distinguished-looking older man with slicked back white hair and beard, stood and everyone quietened down.

  “Most of us here knew Arnold well. Apart from myself he was the oldest custodian, and did his house, and us all proud. To Arnold Ambrose!” He raised his glass as did everyone else in the room. Justin instinctively did the same, although he couldn’t understand what point this had to the role-playing.

  As some of the guests starting filtering back up to their rooms, he noticed not so secret looks being passed between the remaining diners. Eventually only seven people and himself were left. They included Miss Toper, the woman and man from before, and Mr. Dayton. The three he had not seen before dinner were the dignified middle-aged man who sat in an impressively large high-backed chair, an athletic Nordic woman in her twenties and an unshaven dark-haired man in his thirties, wearing a maroon jacket and a frill top shirt. He also noticed they were all wearing impressive rings.

  Miss Toper stood up and walked to the door and locked it, which instantly drew a reaction from the woman who had been skilled with the axe.

  “Why is he still here?” she said, pointing to Justin. “Finn represents house Pendragon.”

  Justin smiled. “I really have to say, you people really are worth the money, I’ve not been to a themed hotel before, but after this I might try a few more!”

  Everyone looked at him in silence.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “He doesn’t know,” said the white-haired man.

  “How did he find us?” said the woman, repeating what she asked Justin earlier.

  Miss Toper smiled. “Everyone calm yourselves, Justin might not be privy to our ways yet, but fate led him to us. He’s obviously one of us otherwise he would have never even seen the alleyway let alone this building in the storm.” She walked closer to Justin who watched, bemused. “I think introductions are in order.” She walked to the Scottish woman in the white shirt. “This is Eden Bain, of house Lancelot.”

  “Ah, like the old knights and King Arthur?” said Justin. Eden rolled her eyes.

  Miss Toper walked to the large bearded man with
the sword. “This is—”

  “I can talk for myself. My name is Finn Callaway, of house Pendragon. It is always an honor to meet a fellow brother.”

  Justin looked confused. “Umm, thanks.”

  Eden threw her arms up in the air in frustration. “We don’t have time for this—” she then leaned forward, directly opposite Justin. “Look you cretin. This is not a game, or make believe, it’s real. You are sitting in a house, which humans who are not directly descended from one of the original seven can’t even see! You can see it because you are descended from Arthur Pendragon!”

  Justin furrowed his brow. “What?”

  Dayton pulled out the empty seat next to Justin and sat in it. He then put his hand on his shoulder. “Justin, your name is Pendridge correct?”

  “Yeaaah—”

  “That is derived from the name Pendragon, meaning you are a descendent of the first King, Arthur.”

  Justin looked at all those around him that were looking at him, like he had the answer to the game they were all playing. The back of his neck started to feel uncomfortable and hot. “I think perhaps I should go up to my room, I need to be up early to try to get some transport back to Kent in the morning.”

  As he was finishing his request to be allowed to leave, something was happening on the periphery of his vision, which his brain utterly refused to believe was real. One of the silver jugs that had been used during dinner to pour water was gently rotating in midair. He couldn’t ignore it any longer and his eyes shifted to his left to watch what his brain was trying to find a way to explain. At the same time, he noticed the unshaven man was twirling his forefinger in the exact motion the jug was moving in.

  The possibility that everything he had seen over the last few hours and what he was seeing now was actually real, exploded in his mind at once, and he sat up and pushed his chair back at the same time, knocking it backwards to the floor.

  “I—I, have to go, I didn’t see anything I promise—” he said scrambling backwards.

  Eden looked at the others. “This is why we have the awareness ceremony! He should have been thrown out as soon as he set foot in this place! Some minds can’t take the transition.”

  Miss Toper threw Eden a hard look. “Throw him back out into the storm? We all know this is not a natural occurrence, there is dark magic behind it, and—” her attention was distracted by Justin desperately trying to understand how to unlock the large dining hall doors.

  “Mr. Pendridge!”

  He turned facing the room like a scolded school child, his face red and damp with sweat. “Yes?”

  “It is a great privilege to be allowed into this discussion, please do not make me regret my decision to grant you access. I understand it must come as a shock to know that there is more in the universe that you thought were possible, but to an understanding you must come, and quickly!”

  “Umm, right.” He turned and continued trying to pull the door open. “Why isn’t the damn thing opening,” he pleaded to himself. A soft warm hand touched his own. Looking to his left he could see it was the young blonde-haired woman.

  “My name is Sparrow Arundell of house Tristan. Please come and sit back down, we are not crazy, and neither are you—” she led him back to a seat where he sat heavily, looking dazed and glancing at the others suspiciously. Sparrow went to pour some water from the once floating jug that was now peacefully resting on the table.

  “No, not that one.” He gestured towards the second nearby jug. “That one.”

  She smiled, switching to the other jug, and poured him some water, which he eagerly gulped down.

  “As I was saying, to finish off everyone’s name, so you know who we are, I believe you know Bartholomew Dayton from the house of Bedivere, that leaves our resident Magi, Jax Aldane of house Merlin—” she looked at the man who had thankfully in Justin’s mind stopped bending the laws of physics then turned to the aristocratic older man in the chair. “—Gus Pascal of house Percival, and finally myself, Hillary Toper of house Gawain, now if—” she went to continue but Justin interrupted.

  “So, King Arthur, Merlin it was all real then?”

  Eden frowned.

  Justin’s eyes then widened as if some horror had just dawned in his mind. “Th—what—what was that in the garden that attacked me? It was real?”

  Miss Toper sat, nodding her head. “Unfortunately, it was. They are beings born from evil, but usually they keep their distance from sanctuaries—”

  “I—I think I’m going to be—” before he could finish a silver bowl floated across the room as if on an invisible magic carpet and came to a rest in front of him just as he threw up into it.

  Eden shook her head.

  “I think he needs some air,” said Sparrow. “I’ll take him just outside the front door, don’t worry we won’t go far.”

  The bowl floated to the ground, and Sparrow helped Justin up and to the exit which now was open. He ran across the lobby to the front door, turning its large handle, pulling it open and allowing the icy night air to embrace him. For a moment, the chilling effect took away his disorientation, but then he looked back over his shoulder at Sparrow standing there, dressed not that dissimilar to a pirate and the feeling of unreality washed over him again and he grabbed at the door frame to steady himself.

  She put her hand on his shoulder. “Usually, this process would last a few weeks, it can be rough if you find out like you did, but you’ll adjust. We all do eventually.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Kat lay looking up at the familiar cracks in her bedrooms ceiling. Thankfully she hadn’t dreamt, but she still felt hung-over and she could only really sleep on one side due to the remaining bump on the back left of her head. She thought about telling Dawn, but even if they wanted to pay a visit to the hospital, travelling the five miles probably wasn’t possible anyway due to the few feet of snow covering everything outside. She decided before going to sleep that she would see how she felt the next day, if attempting the treacherous journey to the hospital was worth it.

  Instinctively she reached for her phone then stopped. Her life had changed yesterday and it was only while lying there in that moment the day after, that it started to sink in.

  She picked up her phone anyway, and checked the weather. Snow was forecast for the day and the week ahead. She then looked at the news app. Its screen was full of wintry scenes of vehicles in ditches, trains not running and a featureless white landscape of buried buildings. Phrases such as “Never before” and “When will it end?” seemed to dominate the headlines, along with “Whitest Christmas ever!” which made her chuckle. It was then she became aware of the Christmas music drifting up from the ground floor of the house.

  She clicked on the map app, and put in her current location along with directions to Glastonbury. A reasonably straight line flowed from her home in Surrey to the small town in Somerset. One hundred and fifty miles, or two and a half hours by car, or almost five hours by train and bus. None of which were possible while the country was under a winter siege.

  The small bookshop and its secrets were going to have to stay sealed away for a few more weeks at least.

  She sat up in her bed and looked at the letters and ring still sitting on her desk. Getting to her feet gingerly, she stretched, then walked to the desk and slid the ring on her third finger on her right hand. She stood waiting, not knowing what to expect. The metal felt warm but apart from that, having the ring on her finger felt no different than not having it on. She held her hand up and examined it. Shrugging her shoulders, she stepped into some denim trousers, threw on a top, and turned on her computer.

  Fifteen minutes later, she sat staring at one of her many social media accounts and sighed. She felt different. Not physically, but since she heard the news of her grandfather’s passing and his strange, delusional, final letters to her, the glossy magazine world of others online seemed empty and meaningless. Arnold was a man that lived. Maybe it was time she did too. But what did that mean? He mentioned
that some of his books were valuable, so maybe she could sell them? And that would mean not having to sell her shop. She laughed. The idea of owning a shop was still alien to her.

  Picking up the letter of deed transfer that was included in her grandfather’s letters, she opened the map website and typed in the postcode. A narrow road appeared, lined by medieval buildings. Moving position along the road a few yards, she saw it. Number 18, Benedict Street. A plain building, with cracked white plaster, a large window on the ground floor, and a paint chipped green door, with a stone arch above. And just above all that stretched an old faded wooden sign, ‘Avalon Books’. The window had a drape drawn across it with books just visible pushed up against the inside, beyond was only darkness. Above that was an equally gloomy four-panelled window, and right at the bottom, as if trying not to be seen, near the ground a small row of barred windows hinted at the basement she was told about. Nothing about the place made Kat feel like she would want to buy a book there, but it did have a strange discarded quaintness that made her curious as to what lived within.

  Sitting in her bedroom, looking at the old shop, while the snow started to fall again outside her window, she wondered if she could call the place her home. She closed her eyes and instantly the smell of dust and leather entered her nostrils. She sniffed a few times then opened her eyes. She was not where she was before. Around her was a dark, gloomy, compact room, filled with shelves which housed dusty leather volumes.

  She froze not wanting to move or know what had just happened. Instead she moved her eyes while her head stayed motionless. As well as the shelves, more stacks of books littered the floor, while small paintings with ornate frames covered the walls. I’m dreaming. Either that or the bump. I’m concussed—But her senses were telling her otherwise. The smell of damp wood and leather was unmistakable, while the dust was beginning to make her throat itch. No, no, what is happening—Squeezing her eyes tightly closed, she wished her world would return to normal, then opened them.