Slater (Hengist: People of the Horse Book 4)

by Jacky Gray

  ‘Dunno why you bother with him, he wouldn’t do the same for you.’

  ‘Yes he would. Just go.’

  Opening his eyes to confirm it was indeed Carver standing up for him with such loyalty, Slater saw his friend’s attention was diverted. He peered through the dark grey gloom and could just make out the outline of the massive sarsen circle. It was good to see the great forest of stone which promised dangerous thrills to all who dare enter. There was no ring of bluestones by the bank, just the northern moonstone. He was definitely home and he owed Carver a debt of gratitude.

  ‘Thanks for saying that. I would do it for you, whatever it is. Not for the other dullards, but definitely for you.’

  ‘I know. I said so, didn’t I? Now come on or we won’t see anything.’ Carver held out a hand and helped him up.

  Slater shook the grass out of his cloak and folded it, lining up the edges precisely. ‘I didn’t realise you lot were all so devoted. It’s just a Litha rite like they would have at Aveburgh.’

  ‘Are you jesting? Haven’t you heard what goes on here? They have girls with no clothes on. Why do you think Crosby and the others are so keen to come?’

  ‘I didn’t think it was to satisfy their spiritual needs. I thought it was just for the ale.’

  ‘No. Apparently they act out one of the rituals from long ago when the stones were first put up. When they sacrificed a virgin.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Slater picked up his shoulder sack.

  ‘That they sacrificed a virgin? Don’t you listen in Cathair’s lessons? Must be the only one you don’t.’

  ‘You know I listen. I mean are you sure they will go naked? It’s pretty cold at this time in the morning.’

  ‘Only you would worry about something like that.’

  A loud drumming heralded the start of the ceremony as the robed figures followed the sacred route to the altar stone, carrying the flame from the Litha bonfire. Pungent spices filled the air as the high priest lit the braziers around the altar stone and led the prayers. There were plenty of young girls, but all the performers were fully clothed, mainly in white.

  Green ribbons edged the dresses of the first group as they performed a dance to celebrate the healing power of plants. The girls were all cute first year juniors dancing to jolly music so the crowd could clap along. Their movements were simple and not quite in perfect time. They ended by going into the audience, handing out posies of oak blossoms, mistletoe and St John’s Wort for protection.

  The next group’s dresses had been dipped in different shades of blue dye, the layered effect representing waves on the sea. The girls were in their final junior year and their dance was more sophisticated, using lengths of flimsy blue material to imitate the motion of water.

  The music was romantic, mainly fiddles and gitterns. At the end, each girl picked up a jar containing a magical combination of water from the sea, holy springs and thunderstorm rain. Each jar held a large shell or piece of coral which helped to retain the energy. The final action was for each girl to pour the last of the water over another’s head, symbolising the purification and healing power of this precious liquid.

  As the girls melted into the crowd, the drums, which had been so quiet they were barely noticeable, burst to the fore with a strident rhythm, raising the energy in the crowd as people were unable to remain still. The last group, including many boys, were seniors who all wore white suits which clung to their bodies. The clever design incorporated red and yellow shapes which licked round their arms and legs like flames.

  Each dancer carried a special torch which they lit from the braziers before forming a horseshoe shape in front of the altar. People moved back to clear a space as the energy of the dance matched the exciting drum rhythms.

  Their performance was shorter than the others, punctuated with daring acrobatic feats, leading to a spectacular climax. All the torches were stuck into an earthen mound representing the bonfire and the dancers formed pairs as though part of a handfasting celebration. They didn’t just jump the flames, they spun, cartwheeled and bounced across, interweaving from different directions in a breathtaking display of skill and timing as each couple made the three journeys required to bring good luck and prosperity.

  The end of the dancing signalled the time for prayer, for each person to celebrate and give thanks for the growing seasons. People offered promises of care and attention during the ripening and hard work at harvesting. The sky was several shades lighter, heralding the dawn. Slater found his attention wandering as he joined in automatically with the responses to the incantations.

  Carver had led him to where the rest of the boys had set up camp – a good spot just inside the circle of bluestones. They had an excellent view of the dancing, but were well placed to see the sunrise through the gap in the sarsen ring. His adventures with Aurala and Roldan were fresh in Slater’s mind and the amount of detail made it difficult for him to believe it was an elaborate dream.

  Looking toward the bank, he made out a patch just in front of it where the grass was slightly darker. Moving closer to the gap between the sarsen ring, Slater peered through. Excitement bubbled up inside as he noticed more dark patches either side of it. From that distance, they looked like rough circles. He barely registered the disappointment of the crowd as the sky lightened around them with no appearance of the sun.

  Thick clouds were clinging across the eastern sky, making it impossible for the slightest ray of sunlight to shine through. Some people, who had seen the sunrise alignment before, drifted off. Most of them stayed, praying for the sun to burn through the clouds and give them the spectacle they had stayed up all night to see.

  Slater slid away from his friends, drawn now to the dark patches, determined to see if they could be anything to do with his vivid dream. Following the sunrise line, he could tell it cut through one of the patches, and he saw more dark blotches on either side of the doorway stones at the henge’s entrance.

  Too many people were focused on the east, so he continued on a little way, walking clockwise and trying to look as though he were deep in prayer. Measuring the distance as he walked, Slater stopped after six of the patches. They were all five paces apart and one pace across. This was about the same as the bluestones in his dream, but how could he possibly have known about them?

  “Beliefs and Rituals” was his favourite subject, so he was sure Professor Cathair hadn’t mentioned them. Slater always listened in Cathair’s lessons, despite Carver’s tease. He got no further with his speculation, as the sun chose that moment to peek through the clouds. It was accompanied by a huge cheer from the crowd and Slater made his way back to his friends.

  15 – Just a Silly Dream

  ‘You all know the Stonehenge temple has several layers. Can anyone remember any significant facts about the stones?’ Professor Cathair fixed several people with a hard stare, but no one would meet his eyes in case they were chosen to answer. Slater waited a moment or two; surely someone in the class would know something? They all studied it in some detail in the third year. He couldn’t believe they were all too shy to answer; maybe they just couldn’t remember the important facts. Deciding he wasn’t stealing anyone else’s turn, he put up his hand and the professor indicated that he should attempt an answer.

  ‘The outer circle has thirty sarsens topped with lintels; the inner circle has thirty bluestones. The horseshoe of five sarsen gates is focused on the Litha sunrise or Yule sunset and has an inner horseshoe of nineteen bluestones.’

  ‘Very impressive. You must have paid close attention in my lessons. Yes, I’m sure you know the rest, but we’ll give someone else a chance. Luned, what can you add?’

  ‘There’s an altar stone in the middle of the circle.’

  ‘No it’s not quite in the middle; it’s closer to the tallest gateway stones …’

  ‘Excuse me, young man. It is customary in this class to put your hand up and wait to be invited before speaking.’

  ‘Yes sir. Sorry sir.’ Slater blushed cr
imson and looked down at his slate.

  ‘Now then, Luned, can you tell me anything more about the altar stone apart from the fact it’s not central to either of the circles?’

  ‘It is a type of bluestone, but it’s not quite the same as the other ones; it’s a lot smaller and feels different.’

  ‘You’ve felt it yourself?’

  ‘No, but …’ She blushed.

  ‘Right, can anyone tell me more? Meldryk?’

  Meldryk had been sniggering at the girl’s blush and he stopped instantly as Cathair subjected him to a dose of sarcasm before launching into a description of the physical properties of the altar stone.

  Glancing over, Slater thought the professor a lot harsher than in previous years as he saw Luned stare at her slate. Having exhausted their knowledge of the physical features of the temple, Cathair moved onto detailed descriptions of the functions and purpose of each element of the complex temple. Slater knew this already, so he outlined the arrangement from his dream and tried to recall the complicated sequence Aurala explained to him.

  ‘So you obviously think you know all the answers and don’t need to listen in my lessons.’ Slater jumped at the angry tone as the slate was ripped from his fingers. Then he looked round to see all the other students had left the room, he hadn’t even heard the bell summoning them to lunch.

  The professor was examining the slate with a twinkle in his eye which turned to a look of astonishment. ‘What is this supposed to be? It’s nothing to do with Stonehenge – or is it?’ He turned it around until it was an alignment he recognised. ‘Is this what I think it is? Where did you get this, boy?’

  ‘I have no idea what you think it is. I saw this in a dream; I was trying to remember how it worked.’

  ‘In a dream eh? When was this?’

  ‘At Litha sir. I fell asleep by the stones and dreamed about a tribe called Durren who built a temple to their sun God Solah, but their bluestones were arranged differently.’

  ‘Have you spoken to anyone about this?’ The professor stood up and started to gather things from his desk as though he was about to go somewhere important.

  ‘No, but …’

  ‘Are you sure? You have told no one about this arrangement of the stones or the tribe that built them?’

  ‘No sir. No one. They would think me foolish to be so concerned with a silly dream.’

  ‘Exactly. That’s all it was, just a silly dream. But one which could be quite dangerous if certain people were to hear about it.’ He looked at Slater for a long moment as if trying to decide whether to trust him or not. With a shake of his head, he replaced the items on his desk. ‘I hope I’m not making a serious mistake here, but I’m usually a pretty good judge of character and you look like the sort of boy who can be trusted with something important.’

  ‘Really?’ Slater beamed at the praise – he held the highest regard for the professor.

  ‘Really. But first you must explain this system to me, it looks very complicated.’ Settling himself into his chair, he indicated Slater should sit in the one opposite.

  Using the rough drawing on the slate, he told the professor Aurala’s explanation of the fifty six stones alternating between sun and moon. Some of the sun stones aligned with the angles of the rising and setting suns on the sabbats, but were mainly used to keep track of the seasons by marking the major feast days.

  There were seven lots of thirteen, or ninety one days between each of the four fire festivals. Starting from Litha, the major sabbats always occurred after three lots of thirteen and the minor ones after four lots of thirteen.

  By moving a sun marker sunwise round the circle, two stones for every thirteen days, the fire festivals coincided with the cardinal points.

  ‘Wait, you’re going too fast, I need to see this in a picture.’ Cathair unrolled a couple of scrolls until he found a large diagram of the stones which he laid out on the desk. Drawing a circle just inside the bank, he drew faint lines splitting it into eight equal portions then splitting each eighth into seven equal portions.

  Slater demonstrated the model. ‘So if you continue on round the circle, Lughnasadh is west, then the Herfest sabbat is north west at right angles to the Litha sunrise line.’

  The professor marvelled at the accuracy as he measured the distances between where Slater said the stones would lie. He counted them aloud, exclaiming as each fire festival coincided with a compass point. ‘Amazing. Samhain is due North as it should be, and Yule is diagonally opposite to Litha, coinciding exactly with the line of the midwinter sunset.’

  ‘Of course. And it matches the alignment of the central horseshoes and the avenue leading up to the temple.’

  ‘Obviously.’

  As he marked the final festival, the professor sat back for a while, admiring his handiwork.

  ‘That’s not all of it, if you look at the station stones …’

  But before they could discuss the moonstone alignments, Professor Jadon came in looking for Cathair. Slater knew they normally lunched together so he left them to it.

  16 – Mondilla, the High Priestess

  Slater could think of few things he liked less than sporting contests. Crowds of people maybe. Hot, airless days with no breeze to relieve the throat-parching heat and no shade to escape the relentless sun which burnt his skin like a ripe strawberry. So the Lughnasadh celebration was just about his worst nightmare. Although it was the first week of August and outside the organisation of the lehren, every junior in the village was expected to join in and compete in at least one of the activities. Fierce competition smouldered between the teams, and points were given for everyone who completed their activity to encourage participation. The splitting into teams was carefully managed to ensure no team had an unfair advantage with more than its fair share of Warriors, who were usually the best at sports.

  So it was Slater’s duty to partner a fifth year girl in the three-legged race. Although they were not very fast, his partner Jilthaya had the same length legs as him and they managed to keep in step the whole time without falling over as so many other pairs did. They were second in their heat and came fifth in their semi final behind all the senior pairs, just missing a place in the final. Then he was free until the end where he had to wear the bread bonnet for one leg of the relay race round the bottom of the hill.

  Nolen, one of the seniors organising the event, was not happy when Slater said he was going down to the river to cool off, telling him to make sure he was back in time.

  The shade of the willow trees was too tempting, and Slater ducked through the branches to find a peaceful green refuge away from the heat and bustling crowds. Promising himself to stay for just half an hour, he lay down on a patch of mossy grass. Within minutes, the gentle susurration of the leaves in the breeze persuaded his eyes to close.

  Opening his eyes with a jolt, he heard excited cries as people shouted for their favourite to win whatever race was currently going on. It did not seem as though he had been asleep for very long, but he thought he should make sure they were not racing horses across the Goddess field – this was always the last event before the bread race.

  Peering out of the willow branches, he saw no sign of the horses, and he worried that the event had finished. Hurrying along to the events field, he heard crowds of people, cheering on their favourites, confirming that challenges were still going on. If the bread race had started, maybe he could swap in for the last leg.

  The elaborate decorations were different to how he remembered them, but when he reached the field, he realised something was wrong. There was no sign of the tents marking each team’s territory or poles decorated with branches from the team’s chosen tree. He could see no areas marked off for the long-jump or log hurling and no sign of the leapfrog channels.

  A strange squealing assaulted his ears and moments later, the sport became apparent. Several boys wielding sticks were chasing a number of small brown animals – the source of the squealing. Occasionally, a boy would throw himself in t
he general direction of one of the terrified pigs, but none of them came anywhere close to catching the slippery creatures. A brown and white pig headed straight for Slater. He wasn’t quick enough to get out of the way, so it collided with his legs. A small, scruffy boy managed to grab its back legs and hoist it up in the air.

  ‘Diltan has a swine. Diltan wins.’ A strong voice decreed the win and Slater looked round, expecting to find one of the village elders or a council member, but it was a complete stranger, dressed in a long tunic which looked like a girl’s dress. With a twinge that reverberated all the way down his spine, he realised he was once more in different time than his own. It wasn’t a problem; just a dream and he’d soon wake up. He would just sit back and watch the adventure unfold. Except it felt much more real than a dream, especially when Diltan came up and slapped his arm. ‘Thank you. What is name?’

  ‘Slater.’

  ‘Are you Durren?’

  ‘No. My family is Kenit.’ It didn’t take long for him to realise the speech was different from the last dream, much closer to his own, just a little simpler.

  ‘Come and watch the Aurochs trial.’ The lad grabbed his arm, pulling him through the gap in the hedge to the next field where a large area was fenced off. Inside, a senior boy sat astride a huge animal, similar to a cow but much bigger with massive horns. The animal bucked and stamped, doing its best to deposit its human rider on the grass. The boy, however, was using his knees to grip on tightly as he hung onto the animal’s stumpy mane. The excitement of this scenario passed Slater by as his attention was drawn to the large white mound immediately behind the fencing.

  ‘What’s that?’

  His new friend followed his outstretched finger and raised his eyes heavenward. ‘Your family are Kenit and you do not know Silene’s mound? I think you are Durren spy.’

  ‘Silene’s mound?’ He looked at the white hill doubtfully. ‘If that’s supposed to be Silburgh, it’s not even half the size it’s supposed to be.’ He muttered to himself as he compared it to the landmarks he knew. It was only as tall as the oak trees surrounding it and not quite as tall as the row of poplars running down toward the Swallowhead spring. But the really noticeable difference was that the hill was pure white chalk, not covered in grass like the one he was used to.