Jack Shian and the King's Chalice

by Andrew Symon

  “Have I missed work today?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Grandpa’s explained things to Gilmore. He says you can have tomorrow morning off as well, but you’ll have your lesson with Daid after lunch.”

  “Is Grandpa OK?” asked Jack.

  “Armina’s checked him over – she says he’s grand,” said Aunt Katie happily. “And did she look at that burn on your face?”

  “It’s fine; she put some cold charm stones on it. She says there won’t be a scar.”

  “There’ll be a big party in the square on Friday evening.”

  “We’re celebrating getting the Cup,” announced Rana.

  “The Chalice, you mean,” said Katie. “We’ll have to learn to call it that. The Congress are arranging for it to be placed in the castle. The humans will be delighted – they love all that historical stuff.”

  “So we really do have to give it to them, then?”

  “Share it – it will move between the human space up above and here. We have common concerns. It’s just taken some Shian longer to realise that, that’s all. Our family – well, you know our history.”

  “Realise what?” asked Petros, entering the room and yawning expansively.

  “That things are changing,” said his mother. “Now, what would you all like to eat?”

  After lunch the next day, Jack made his way to Daid’s house. He could see the other apprentices whispering amongst themselves as he approached.

  “Hi, Jack,” called out Purdy. “We heard you had some fun yesterday. Are you going to tell us about it?”

  “Was your granddad really dead? And you charmed him back?” Kaol’s eyes were wide with admiration.

  “No, I—”

  “Did you really meet ghost warriors?” gasped Séan. “What happened when the Brashat got suspended?”

  “And you even attacked Amadan?” Boyce gave Jack a look that might almost have been respect. “The baddest Unseelie of the lot? I heard he can kill just by looking at you.”

  The questions bewildered Jack – there was still so much to piece together in his own mind. Relief flooded through him as Daid opened the front door and ushered the class in.

  When they were all seated, Daid began.

  “I’m sure we’d all like to hear Jack’s stories about Dunvik, but we need to give him some space, so I propose to tell you a little of the Cup’s background.”

  There was an audible sigh of disappointment around the room, but the apprentices settled down to listen.

  “The tales are in Purdy’s book. Around a hundred and fifty years ago, a rather eccentric woman went travelling around the more remote parts of the country. She later published her journal of stories. One was the legend of a chalice, plundered by Vikings and returned centuries later by a young prince, come to fight for the throne. He was a very human human, if you know what I mean, having a fondness for gambling and strong drink.”

  Séan and Boyce exchanged knowing smirks.

  “Well, he gambled away the Cup, and it got passed to a chieftain’s son, who loved a beautiful young woman. But she was betrothed to a poor fisherman, and when the two men quarrelled, the chieftain’s son was killed. The fisherman panicked and hid in a cave. Sadly for him, the cave was a ‘thin place’, an entrance to the Shian world, and the creatures under the cave lured him away from the Cup and killed him. But the fisherman must have charmed the Cup, because the Shian couldn’t move it. Once a year, the Cup would glow on Hallows’ Eve.”

  “I heard Briannan got the Cup,” interjected Boyce.

  “But he couldn’t keep it, could he?” replied Daid. “And he could only take it because he found it on Hallows’ Eve. The charm must not work then. Now, I’m afraid that I have stolen some of young Purdy’s storyline. Purdy, is there anything you’d like to add?”

  Relieved not to be the focus of attention, Jack settled back while Purdy spoke about the rest of the book. His thoughts drifted off to what Briannan had said.

  Your fool of a father.

  Why hadn’t his father been able to escape, like Konan had? There were so many things he didn’t understand.

  Jack left quickly at the end of the lesson, but when he went home his aunt informed him that the Congress was making arrangements for the Chalice to be deposited in the castle. Jack would have to wait until that evening to speak to his grandfather.

  Evening came and went with no sign of Grandpa. When Jack asked his uncle, he got a non-committal reply. His uncle seemed distant, his mind on other things. Aunt Katie explained that Doonya had been concerned about Rana and Lizzie.

  Aunt Katie doesn’t change much, thought Jack. Always trying to smooth things over, but always anxious. And the girls, to judge by their actions since returning, had been most concerned about Nuxie.

  Work the next day felt strange. Freya was keen to get his news, but Gilmore kept them hard at it, insisting that they complete their tasks before the weekend. Jack wondered if all teachers were as irritating as this. Doxer, as quiet as ever, worked away patiently and silently. Fenrig, Freya explained (having heard this from her father), was being kept away until things settled down.

  Over lunch, Freya quizzed Jack about Dunvik. Did the shifter work properly? How had Petros felt about the beetler? Was it safe to shrink down to that size out in the open? Jack tried to answer Freya’s questions, but inside there was a whirling mix of his own. Relieved when the working day was over, he made his way wearily back to the house.

  “You’ll never guess who’s playing at the party!” announced Rana breathlessly as he entered the house.

  “It’s the Sceptres!” gasped Lizzie, before Rana could draw out the suspense. “And Glownie’s coming too.”

  “The Sceptres are the best musicians in the country,” Petros explained to Jack, who was looking nonplussed. “They’re from the islands; they don’t visit the cities much.”

  “Uncle Hart’s coming too. He might play along with Glownie,” said Rana. “I can’t wait.”

  “The Cos-Howe lot will definitely come when they hear who’s playing,” said Lizzie excitedly.

  Jack was still trying to make sense of Dunvik, but his younger cousins had just accepted things.

  Maybe it’s easier that way. Maybe I’m thinking too much about it all.

  Predictably, when the adults started to arrive, everyone was too busy talking to talk to him. Grandpa Sandy (fully recovered, it seemed) and Atholmor were deep in conversation with Festus and Murkle, and Jack didn’t feel like interrupting them. He certainly didn’t feel up to tackling Murkle. Jack listened while Lizzie recounted to Freya how the invisible bonnets had been great fun, and could they have a spare set, please? They were so fine and light that she could see a time when they would need to be repaired.

  The crowd and the noise grew. Jack had never seen the square so full, and indeed there had not been that many Shian there for many years. People were happy; there was a tangible sense of relief. But Jack didn’t feel like joining in, and this irritated him. It wasn’t just tiredness, or the adrenaline come-down – the others had got over all that. This was something else.

  As the musicians got ready on the stage, Jack found himself wandering to the side wall. Almost absent-mindedly, he placed his left hand on the rock wall and whispered, “Effatha!”

  35

  Reasons To Be Cheerful

  Jack was half-surprised when, moments later, he found himself in the dark by the castle chapel. He wandered around to the deserted rampart walls over which he’d first seen the city spread before him. Midsummer was a world away. Jack shivered as he gazed at the glowing lights of the New Town far below.

  All those humans, and now we’re told our destinies are shared. How can we be Shian if we have to mix with them? Something must get lost.

  Jack leant against the wall, his chin on his forearms, and pondered.

  A cough startled him out of his reverie. Wheeling round, his first impulse was to run, but a reassuring voice said, “Don’t worry, Jack. It’s just me.”
<
br />   With a surge of relief, he recognised his grandfather’s voice.

  “I got a fright.” His heart was still pounding.

  “Don’t you fancy coming to the party?”

  “I just wanted a bit of space. I can’t get my head around everything, you know, up in Dunvik.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry I haven’t been around to answer your questions since we got back. We had to make arrangements about the Chalice, but that’s done now. But first of all I must thank you for stepping in when I got hurt. Your exceptional courage tipped the balance. Amadan couldn’t cope with what you did. We’re all in your debt.”

  “I thought he’d killed you.”

  “He had. But somewhere inside, you found the strength – and the belief – to challenge that. And you could never have done it without the Chalice. You believed in it, Jack.”

  “I just knew it was the right thing to do. Gosol’s not just a charm, is it?”

  His grandfather looked across at him kindly. “Gosol’s about everything being joined up. Like everything you do having an effect on everyone else. And it’s doing the right thing for the right reason. You must have really believed it for it to work – like when Konan had you by the throat. You kept your head and used the Aximon, didn’t you? It could only work if you truly believed. Gosol and the Aximon know this.”

  “Tamlina was right,” said Jack quietly. “I had met Konan before. He tried to grab me on the High Street at midsummer, but I got away.”

  “Jack,” said his grandfather after a few moments, “you should have told us. We don’t want to keep you in a cage, but we can’t expose you to risks like that.”

  “So what did happen to Konan?”

  “I know you thought your uncle had killed him, but Doonya fused him into that oak. It’s a hex – Konan’s alive, just part of the tree. I doubt he’ll ever get away.”

  “So he’s as good as dead, then?”

  “In the past there would have been no question. Attacking Shian children would have earned a death sentence. But you heard what was said: Gosol demands that we have more respect for life than that.”

  “But that monk killed the Brashat who attacked Rana,” pointed out Jack.

  “He thought she’d been killed. He was trying to prevent more deaths.”

  “If Konan’s still alive, he might be able to tell us where my father is.”

  “You never know. A counter-hex might work. As for finding your father, well, we know more now than we knew a while ago. And it wasn’t the Brashat who suspended him; that was the Grey. So, we can keep looking.”

  “What about my mother and Cleo?” Jack’s voice was almost a whisper.

  “The Brashat are out of the frame for a while. If she hears of it, your mother may feel it’s safe to return.”

  “But after everything in Dunvik, we don’t even get to keep the Chalice. We searched for it, and found it. Now we’ve got to share it with the humans – and even the Brashat.”

  “The whole point of the Chalice is not to own it, Jack, but to share it. And Matthew was right: if one group owned it, there’d be warfare.”

  “It’s complicated,” Jack said at last. “Some things you’re sure of turn out to be lies. Like the Congress: Rowan was a traitor; he nearly got us killed.”

  Grandpa exhaled loudly. “Shian and humans are very alike in that respect. Some just want to be on the winning side. But if anything, he faces a worse punishment than the Brashat. He’ll always be an outsider to them, and he knows we’ll never trust him again.”

  Jack stared out across the rooftops of the city, the house and streetlights twinkling below. He found he could muster no sympathy for Rowan.

  “There’s other things I don’t understand,” he said eventually. “The Norse warriors and the monks were ghosts; they could hold iron axes and swords, so they’re not Shian. How could they be part of a Shian battle?”

  “There were ghosts. They appeared on Hallows’ Eve because it’s a special night, the kind of night when ghosts can be summoned. You did that with the ram’s horn. That’s why we could recover the Chalice too. It’s called a ‘thin time’; the boundaries between different worlds can be crossed. There’s ‘thin places’ too, like the cave.”

  “But how come the ghosts didn’t disappear at midnight? They were all chanting Gosol, and Comgall even spoke to the commonwealth.”

  “Over the centuries we managed to forget something. The clue is in the name. Christmas Eve doesn’t mean much without Christmas Day, does it? The same goes for Hallows’ Eve. We were only looking at the first half of things. A long time ago I must have been told this, because it came flooding back when Cosmo challenged Briannan. And it’s like Matthew said: Briannan committed infama – a crime against Nature – when he thought the Chalice would give him power over death, and even Nature itself. The Chalice has Gosol, and Gosol is the reason for life; it’s what’s been there forever.”

  “The creator force?”

  “Not just creation, but its goodness. That sureness gave me the strength to challenge Briannan. You saw the look on his face when the Norsemen came? Ghosts he could handle, because they would disappear at midnight, and they certainly would not have iron swords. ‘More than ghosties’, well, Briannan couldn’t handle that. And Hallows’ Day is one of those exceptional days when the Chalice can show its power, as you proved.”

  “So the Chalice can defeat death, but only at certain times?”

  “And only if you believe enough. It’s not like a charm. Sadly, it didn’t bring Radge back, though Tom tried.”

  For anyone to die is sad, thought Jack, but all the Cos-Howe crew came along knowing the risks. And we did get the Chalice, after all.

  And yet something still gnawed away at Jack’s insides.

  “I feel I should be happier,” he said dejectedly. “We beat the Brashat, and we got the Chalice, but I feel like something’s missing.”

  “That’s not hard to explain: we still haven’t found your father. But you’ve a lot going for you. I know he doesn’t always show it, but Doonya’s really proud about what you did. It was your belief, a real belief in the rightness of what you were doing. That’s the true power of Gosol, Jack. You used that when you attacked Amadan, and when you brought me back.

  “Jack, you’ve done a lot of growing since you arrived from Rangie. This is not the end; there’s the Sphere to seek now. We can’t do much over the winter, but when spring returns we start again.”

  Jack smiled at the thought. Memories of carefree days in Rangie stirred in his mind.

  “We’ll start by looking for those manuscripts. Did you know it was Fenrig who left them in the chapel? He must have stolen them from his father. He’s not letting on where they are, but we’ll get them. And who knows? Maybe they’ll lead us to your father. Now come on below to the party. It’s cold, and the musicians will be playing soon.”

  Jack realised that it was indeed cold up on top of the castle. Things were beginning to make sense, slowly. As his grandfather put his arm around his shoulder, Jack felt a lot warmer inside. There was a lot that had gone well that week. And he did feel like hearing some music. They walked to the side of the chapel and were soon back in the Shian square.

  Rana came running up. “Come on, Jack! The Sceptres are about to start!”

  Even as she spoke, there was a crash of drums and a dramatic chord from guitar, fiddle and flute. Within seconds, the top of the square was a whirling reel of bodies and stamping feet.

  Lizzie handed Jack a goblet of tayberry juice. “Cheers!”

  Jack took the goblet and smiled back. It was good to be alive. He saw Cosmo and the other Cos-Howe boys in the throng, and Petros and Ossian talking with Purdy and Freya. Freya waved at him, urging him to join in as they threw themselves into the mass of dancing bodies.

  There is more to do, thought Jack. But let’s enjoy tonight.

  1

  My Enemy’s Enemy

  The third echo was … silence?

  Silence pr
eceded by a hollow emptiness.

  Jack had just enough time to be surprised before his eardrums were hammered by a deafening thunderclap. Jumping in alarm, he clasped his hands over his ears.

  Screaming, Lizzie tried to do the same – but too late. A trickle of blood emerged from her right ear, and she cooried into her grandfather.

  Jack stared in disbelief as the Blue Hag swayed alarmingly on the small hill she had just climbed. Three times he had watched the old woman as she had shuffled up an incline to perform the ancient Shian ritual for clearing the snows at winter’s end. Three times on reaching the top she had drawn her long staff upright and thudded it into the ground. Reverberations in the surrounding hills had melted the snow for fifty yards around her. Or at least they had done so twice. But the third time – nothing.

  The staff had hit the ground, just like before. But this time, there was no sound – until the thunderclap. The Blue Hag steadied herself and peered round, perplexed. Her gaze passed over Jack, Lizzie and their grandfather, and came to rest on a much higher hill to Jack’s left. He followed her eyes. There, standing at the very summit some two hundred yards away, he could just make out three figures. One of them waved something above his head – a sceptre perhaps? – and then came the sound of distant cheering. The sky above the figures darkened, there was a crack of thunder and a single lightning strike scorched a solitary tree on the hillside. Howling curses in their direction, the Blue Hag retreated quickly down the hillside.

  “Who in Tua’s name are they?” exclaimed Jack. The taste of treachery fouled his throat, like the time he’d realised Rowan had sold out the Congress four months earlier.

  Grandpa Sandy had withdrawn his own sceptre from his cloak. Fingering it agitatedly, his stern look was fixed upon the distant figures. Jack saw him clench his jaw.

  Lizzie rubbed her right ear and squeaked in alarm as she saw the blood. Cowering behind her grandfather’s cloak, she peered fearfully at the distant figures as one of them rose from the ground and did a graceful pirouette in the air. The manoeuvre had lasted fully ten seconds. Grandpa’s face relaxed, and he lowered his sceptre.