Jack Shian and the King's Chalice

by Andrew Symon

  Jack’s arm ached, and he felt it falling as the dart approached. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to keep his sceptre up. At the last second, Amadan swerved upwards, passing over Jack’s head and burning the side of his face. The fire faded into a glow in the air above Jack, then disappeared with a final crack! The Brashat warriors, their inspiration snatched away, deflated like a stabbed balloon. Exhausted, Jack sank down.

  Complete silence.

  Jack shook his head, and looked round at his grandfather.

  He’s not breathing!

  In a panic, Jack shouted across to Briannan, “Give me the Cup! It can save Grandpa!”

  And then the bell chimed.

  A single bell, it tolled steadily in the still air, even, unhurried.

  Twelve chimes.

  An eerie silence descended. Even the dying Brashat stopped their moaning.

  “Hallows’ Eve is past, is past, and now ’tis Hallows’ Day!”

  The first boat’s lead figure had broken his silence, his voice clear and strong. Stepping down from the boat, he advanced towards Briannan. Floating as his colleague had done at the cave, the figure passed through the warriors and stopped in front of the Brashat leader. Even in the moonlight, Jack could see Briannan’s face turn yet paler as he looked around at his defeated comrades. His arms sagged. Cup and sceptre dropped to the ground. Sinking to his knees, he summoned his last reserves of defiance and shouted, “Then kill me!”

  The monk stood, impassive. Then he put his right hand into his cloak. Briannan waited for the sword to be drawn, but instead the figure drew out a small phial. He pulled a cloth plug from its neck, and poured a little oil onto Briannan’s head. Collapsing back, Briannan lay motionless. The monk then stooped down and picked up the Cup. A cheer rose from the boats, then the chant rose again, urgently calling, “Gosol! Gosol! Gosol!”

  The monk glided over to where Jack sat, hunched over his grandfather. Looking down into the boy’s tear-stained face, he smiled and handed him the Cup, then reached into his cloak and withdrew a ram’s horn. He pulled out the stopper and poured some red liquid into the Cup.

  Cradling his grandfather’s head, Jack tipped some of the fluid into his mouth. Most of it spilled down, but some dribbled in. Jack waited expectantly.

  But nothing happened.

  Jack wiped some of the spilled liquid from his grandfather’s face.

  Nothing.

  “I thought it was supposed to defeat death!” Jack shouted at the monk, looking up imploringly. The monk remained standing there, impassive.

  “If you believe.”

  “He should live. He deserves to. And we need him. Please.”

  Hot tears ran down Jack’s cheeks now, and he glared angrily at the monk, who merely smiled back, and nodded down at Grandpa Sandy.

  “He’s not dead.”

  Following his gaze, Jack saw his grandfather’s eyelids flicker. Then a gasping noise, and Grandpa Sandy shook slightly before pushing himself into a sitting position.

  “Did I … bring him back?” Jack looked up at the monk.

  “You believed.”

  “Gosol! Gosol! Gosol!”

  The warriors joined in now, clashing their swords and axes once more against their shields. The noise built to a deafening crescendo, then the figure held up his hand, and there was silence.

  The monk took the Cup back from Jack and glided back to where Briannan lay motionless. Picking up the Brashat’s sceptre, he shot a bolt into the sky, which began to glow, softly at first, then more brightly. The clearing, bathed in moonlight up to now, looked almost as if it was in daylight. As the light rose, the bodies of the slain ghosts seemed to evaporate, and a rumbling sound came from the earth. Over the next minute, a stepped forum began to sink into the ground.

  And suddenly the sky was filled with creatures. Not since midsummer had Jack seen so many different kinds. Horses and pisgies landed, depositing their riders in the clearing. Phooka cantered in from the edge of the forest, Elle-folk and korrigans skipped past the trees to join the throng.

  Tomte and Nisse, the Congress dwarves, appeared beside Atholmor, just as Samara arrived with Henri’s brother Philippe; and there was Matthew, the referee from Claville, still clutching his leather-bound volume. And Murkle, standing alone, but smiling, clearly in his element.

  “Where’ve they all come from?” asked Petros, of no one in particular.

  Jack shrugged his shoulders. Tonight had almost lost its power to amaze him. Rana, Lizzie and Doonya approached.

  “Are you all all right?” asked Doonya anxiously.

  “We’re fine,” beamed Petros. “That was awesome, though, eh?”

  “We weren’t allowed to join in,” pouted Rana.

  “It wasn’t a game,” said her father in exasperation. “You’d already been attacked once.”

  “It just sort of grazed me,” said Rana confidently. “And Henri fixed it. My shoulder’s grand.”

  “Jack, you’d better let Armina see that burn on your face.”

  As Jack went over to find Armina, Petros asked, “So what’s happening now, then?”

  As if in answer, the ghost monk held aloft the Cup, and once more there was silence.

  “I am Comgall,” he announced, his voice clear and strong. “We were summoned this night to rescue the Chalice from those who would follow evil. Many will claim the Chalice tonight. There has been bloodshed, but we come to proclaim not warfare but peace.”

  Doonya ushered the youngsters towards their grandfather – looking ashen – and the other Congress members. Henri, Philippe and Matthew joined them with Ossian and the Cos-Howe crew. Jack walked up, holding a small stone to his burnt face.

  To their left were the few remaining longship warriors. Across from them, the ghost monks. A small space around these groups betrayed the Shian fear of their iron axes and swords. Fenrig and Morrigan were made to sit beside the hexed Brashat, who, along with Briannan, had been laid out on the steps. The Phooka, Elle-folk and other Shian found seats where they could.

  There was an expectant hush. Comgall and Matthew walked down to the base of the forum. Comgall cradled the Chalice carefully, as if it were a newborn baby. Matthew addressed the whole congregation.

  “The King’s Chalice has been found after many years. Shian, you are all part of the great hidden commonwealth – what the human world rarely sees or knows. You are summoned to partake in an historic decision. While for some tonight is their journey’s end,” he gestured towards the dead Brashat and Hobshee, “the lives of many have been spared.”

  He looked hard at those Brashat who were starting to come round from their hexes.

  “The old ways have gone. The Shian world cannot return to the past. More and more, you must live alongside the humans. For some,” and now Matthew looked over at Petros, Rana and Lizzie, “they are even your cousins.”

  “The Dameves have pushed us to the very edge of our world!” Rowan had now recovered enough to shout. “Would you let them push us over?”

  Oobit levelled his sceptre at Rowan, which had the effect of shutting him up.

  “All creatures are connected – in heaven and on earth and under the earth. The hidden commonwealth must now decide the destiny of the Chalice.”

  33

  The Destiny of the Chalice

  “The Chalice does not grant power over death, as some have claimed,” announced Matthew. “Nor does it control Nature – that is infama. But on exceptional days, a true believer’s love can win out, even up to the point of death. It was made for Comgall and his monks, who taught that death is not the end. Summoned tonight, they are more than human ghosts, for ghosts cannot wield swords.”

  “Their swords are iron.” Another Brashat spoke up. “Even dead, the humans are a danger to Shian.”

  “Yes, our swords are iron, like the axes of the longship warriors,” said Comgall.

  A large warrior stood up, and Jack sensed some of the crowd shrinking back as he brandished his axe.


  “These Norse warriors plundered Comgall’s abbey,” interjected Matthew. “That is why they came tonight; they are linked with this place. In life, some went on to Ireland, leaving the Chalice there. Many years after, it turned up in the French king’s court. Centuries later, it was gifted to a prince who came to these lands, but the prince lost it in a wager with a chieftain, who followed him to war. A love rival killed the chieftain’s son, and hid the Chalice in a cave. Legends grew around it. In time, these were written down. Finding that book laid bare the location of the Chalice.”

  The Brashat, slowly recovering from their hexes, muttered amongst themselves, but none dared to speak.

  “So who’s going to get it, then?” asked Jack. “This is getting complicated.”

  Petros shrugged his shoulders.

  “My friends,” began Cosmo, stepping forward, “the Stone’s return did not bring the prosperity we expected. But it is only one of three treasures; the Chalice is another. The third – an ancient globe – remains lost. Manuscripts tell of three treasures producing a great power. The Stone and the Chalice should be together. In time, we hope the globe will join them.”

  Briannan got unsteadily to his feet. “We do not have the Stone. The Dameves have it, with iron rings in a glass-iron case we cannot break. Would you give them the Cup as well?”

  Grandpa Sandy got up now. His voice was weak again, and he swayed alarmingly. “It is true that iron prevents us from touching the Stone, but there is no doubt that it gives us much of our old power. And if the Chalice helps, then it must go to the Stone, in the humans’ castle.”

  “That means that only you can see them!” retorted Briannan, his strength returning.

  “If the Chalice goes to one group, I fear there will be warfare for years,” said Matthew. “In and below the humans’ castle it can be shared by all – Shian and human. The triple spiral represents something above both human and Shian worlds.”

  “Then what does it mean?” demanded Briannan.

  “To answer that we must find the Sphere,” said Cosmo. “But the treasures are linked. The Chalice must be shared between the Shian square and the Stone Room in the humans’ castle.”

  Briannan was not persuaded, but the close attention of the Cos-Howe contingent, who kept their sceptres trained on the remnants of his army, prevented him from making any moves. There was a general murmuring around the forum as the various groups discussed what should happen. Gradually the muttering softened, and one of the Elle-folk stood up.

  “We have links to the Norse ghosts. The Chalice did not bring them success for long. We agree that it can join the Stone, as long as they belong to all Shian.”

  Jack, his burnt face now almost healed, saw Atholmor and Grandpa Sandy – apparently recovered – whispering urgently. Then Atholmor stood up.

  “We concede that the treasures must be shared. We will arrange for the Chalice to be kept in the humans’ castle and in the Shian square, six months each.”

  “Thank you,” said Matthew. “And do the Phooka and the pisgies also agree?”

  There was a brief flurry of excitement within each group, and then the answer came back that yes, they had reached the same conclusion. The korrigan and the dwarves also indicated their assent, but Tomte, the Congress dwarf, stood up, glowering.

  “But what will happen to the Brashat? They stole the Chalice for their own ends. They will threaten us again if they are not taken care of.”

  “The Brashat who took part in tonight’s battle will be punished,” said Matthew. “But the world has changed. Although our Norse friends do not agree, the punishment is no longer death.”

  “Put them to the iron!” shouted Henri. “It is the punishment for all Unseelie who cause mayhem.”

  Jack recalled how Grulsh’s friends had been melted into the war memorial in Claville. Some of the Brashat had obviously heard of this punishment too, for they started twitching nervously.

  “We will not be putting them to the iron,” said Cosmo firmly.

  “And have them return to kill us in our beds?” shouted Tomte.

  “They will be punished, but a just punishment, to be decided here by the whole commonwealth. Three years suspended is fair.”

  “Five years!” shouted a voice from the assembly.

  Jack stood up. “My father’s suspended ten years, and I don’t even know where he is!”

  There was a moment of silence. Grandpa put his hand gently on Jack’s shoulder. Jack didn’t know what he felt. While delighted that they had retrieved the Chalice, still his anger cried out for the Brashat to be punished.

  A sneering look came over Briannan’s face.

  “Konan escaped, but your fool of a father didn’t. He’ll be there forever.”

  “I hope you rot there forever!” shouted Jack angrily, tears in his eyes. “And if Konan’s so smart, how come he’s dead?”

  “Jack,” said his grandfather softly, “Konan’s not dead. And Briannan will be punished. Being suspended is like feeling you’ll never get away. It empties you.” Then he saw Jack’s sad eyes reproaching him.

  “I’m sorry. That makes it no easier for you. But we have to remember that tonight Briannan has been defeated. We must not be bitter in our victory.”

  Cosmo came up. “He’s right, Jack. It’s difficult, but the power of Gosol demands that we are not vengeful.”

  “If Gosol’s so powerful, how come it can’t bring my parents back to me?” shouted Jack, fighting back the tears.

  “I … I don’t know.” Cosmo tried to smile reassuringly, but Jack’s pain wouldn’t go away.

  Cosmo then turned and indicated to Comgall and the Cos-Howe crew. The Brashat and Hobshee were made to stand together, Briannan and Rowan at the front.

  “For your part in the theft of this Chalice, which belongs to all, and for your collective attempts to kill several children, you will be put in suspension for a period of three years,” said Atholmor sternly. “You will be kept in the Cave of the Skulls. Your own children will be spared; their part can be excused.”

  Without further word, Atholmor pointed his sceptre at the group, and a bolt shot from it. The Brashat and Hobshee began to glow, then rose from the ground as one. Then, over just a few seconds, they faded from view.

  Jack saw Morrigan hug Fenrig, under the watchful eyes of Oobit and Tom. For a few moments, there was silence around the forum. Comgall pointed Briannan’s sceptre upwards once more, and slowly the night sky began to darken. Even with the moonlight, it took Jack’s eyes some time to readjust.

  “The Fool of the Forth has terrorised a weak and divided Shian for centuries. But he is no match for those who truly believe in the power of goodness, and who have the Chalice,” announced Matthew. “You must work now to discover the Sphere, to complete the trinity of treasures. Go well. Go in peace.”

  “Time to go,” said Doonya simply, ushering the youngsters together. “We’ll use the low road, that’s quickest. It’s the hermit’s cell. Ossian can fly the horses back to Keldy.”

  “You mean we could’ve used a low road to get here?” asked Rana.

  “It’s just as well we didn’t know about it, though,” replied Jack. “If we had, we wouldn’t have asked Ossian to help, then we wouldn’t have had Cosmo and the others.”

  “Who was that up on the castle roof, Dad?” asked Petros.

  “That was Amadan – the Fool of the Forth. His demons were pulling him back – they must have sensed the power we had with the Chalice. He doesn’t often beat a retreat, but we got the better of him somehow.”

  “You mean, Jack took on Amadan?” said Petros breathlessly. “Wicked!”

  “Jack weakened him, and Cosmo helped to finish him off,” continued Doonya. “That was brave of you, Jack, but you know you’re not supposed to use a sceptre.”

  Jack felt drained. Praised and scolded in the one sentence. Wordlessly, he handed the sceptre over to his uncle. There was so much he didn’t understand, but he could take no more in just now. Lizzie yawn
ed, and it was infectious.

  “Time to get you lot home,” said Doonya gently. “Armina will take Grandpa back.”

  “What’ll happen to Fenrig?” asked Jack. “Will he go back to his mother?”

  “It’s a long story, Jack, but Fenrig’s mother’s not around. I think Atholmor would rather have him and his sister where he can keep an eye on them. That’s why Atholmor allowed Fenrig under the castle in the first place. He knows Fenrig’s not the brightest candle in the box; he hoped that he’d give away more than he found out.”

  “You mean, they won’t be punished at all?” said Petros.

  “They’re young, and they were led by their father. They can’t be blamed for what he did. But you lot will have to keep an eye on them for us.”

  “Fenrig’s not that stupid,” said Jack, a thousand thoughts whirling around in his mind. “He worked out how to make himself invisible; he stole the manuscripts, and found out about us going for the Cup.”

  “You’re right. We underestimated him. We won’t make that mistake again.”

  Once all were inside what was left of the hermit’s cell, Doonya put his cloak around the four youngsters.

  “Wind-flock castle!” he called, and Jack felt the by now familiar spinning sensation.

  It was the longest low road journey Jack had made, although it still only took a few minutes. Jack’s head buzzed with thoughts, but he was too tired to make sense of these now. He just wanted to fall into bed.

  34

  The Reluctant Hero

  Jack slept like a log, but when he finally awoke, he still felt drained. The Chalice was safe, and the Brashat beaten, but somehow he felt hollow. He found Rana and Lizzie in the kitchen, whispering together, and giggling. Why do girls do that? he wondered.

  Aunt Katie came in, and beamed a sad smile at him. “You’ve no idea what you put me through, disappearing like that.”

  “We were fine, Mum,” said Lizzie as she cradled a restless Nuxie. “We can look after ourselves.”

  “Aye, well, I’m just glad to get you all back in one piece.”