Slater (Hengist: People of the Horse Book 4)

by Jacky Gray

  Luckily, Diltan was distracted as the Aurochs changed direction quickly, throwing its rider to the ground. He joined in with the other boys who were showing their support with loud clapping, frowning at the large group who were jeering their disapproval.

  ‘Who are they?’ Slater could not help but notice the difference in the way they were dressed; their clothes were much finer than the other boys, dyed in rich colours.

  ‘Finlun is son of Mondilla brother. He thinks he rule when she dies.’

  Although Slater wanted to know who Mondilla was, he did not dare show his ignorance again. She was obviously someone important, but he could not bring himself to believe they would have a woman in charge of such an important tribe as the Kenit. His best ploy was to act as though he belonged, ask few questions and listen hard. He focused on the Aurochs trials, getting caught up in the excitement and joining in the noisy appreciation of the skills of the young riders.

  His attention was drawn to one particular bout, along with the rest of the crowd. The tussle between man and animal was fierce, with the rider showing courage and daring, despite being considerably smaller than the rest. The duel lasted the longest of all of them, gaining the loudest cheer. Slater was shocked when the slight figure took off the padded surcoat and helmet, acknowledging the audience’s applause with a swish of long silver hair – it was a girl.

  Diltan laughed at his surprise. ‘Lunella mother will vex to see daughter in trial.’

  The final rider was Finlun and, although he started well, there seemed to be something bothering him. He lost concentration for a few seconds, barely managing to cling on as he slid across the animal’s broad back.

  The timing was done by a couple of young apprentices who were counting the movements of a large stone swinging between two branches like a pendulum. Every time it had swung five times, a pebble was placed in the tray of the balance against the previous winner. When the rider dropped off, the number of pendulum swings was counted and that number of smaller sized pebbles was added. Lunella had stayed on for eight of the larger pebbles and three of the smaller ones.

  Finlun gained seven large pebbles when the animal played its favourite trick, a swift change of direction. The boy was expecting it and clung on with the top half of his body. His legs were flung into the air and he landed hard across the animals back. Righting himself, he was almost in a position to sit astride when the animal came to a dead stop. He was hurled over its head onto the ground just as the pendulum swung for the forty third time. The apprentice added the pebbles to the balance and it tipped down in Finlun’s favour. The judge declared Finlun the winner.

  ‘No. Finlun same time as Lunella. Count stones.’

  Everyone looked round to see the owner of the voice, but Slater could not see which man had spoken. Signs of displeasure murmured through the crowd until a commanding woman raised her hand for silence. She gestured for the apprentices to count the stones. The larger stones were counted first and the apprentice held up his fingers to show Lunella’s score was eight. The apprentice counting Finlun’s also held up eight fingers. Then the number of small stones was called for and both apprentices held up three fingers. It was a draw.

  Finlun did something surprising, approaching Lunella and raising her hand to share the victory. The girls in the crowd seemed to appreciate this gesture, clapping loudly. Several boys, obviously not followers of Finlun, did not join in and remained silent with disapproval.

  As Slater joined in with Diltan’s enthusiastic clapping, he felt the eyes of the woman, who could only be Mondilla, upon him. She was tall for a woman and slender, but the physical force of her personality shone out through the expression on her face and the majesty of her bearing. Trying not to show his concern, he watched as Lunella’s face glowed with the pleasure of success.

  ‘You are not from here. Why have you come?’ It was the same male voice which had ordered the stones to be counted. Although the words were loud to Slater, Diltan’s lack of reaction suggested he had not heard them. Slater turned round to see who was speaking, but no one was there. Catching sight of the expression on her face, it was obvious to Slater that Mondilla had spoken the words. Her next question again sounded like a man’s voice. ‘Are you sent from Durren to watch us?’

  Slater knew of people who could speak into others’ minds by linking with them, but had never experienced it. He was not sure how it worked, but as he thought the answers to her questions, she appeared to hear them. ‘I am not from Durren.’

  ‘Where do you come from?’

  ‘Aveburgh. Kenit, but a different time.’

  Surprise flickered over her face before she turned away to preside over the prize-giving. Although he lost sight of Mondilla in the crowds, her questions continued in his head. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You said Silene’s mound was too small. How do you know this?’

  It was Slater’s turn to register surprise that she had been listening to his thoughts for so long. His mind continued to tell the truth without any conscious contribution from him. ‘In my time, Silburgh hill is more than two times the height of a tall oak tree and over one hundred and fifty paces round the bottom.’

  As the young men prepared themselves for the final race up to the top of the hill, she continued to probe his mind about what the hill looked where he lived.

  Without warning, Slater felt a hand on his shoulder and heard her real voice as she commanded, ‘You will come with me.’

  17 – The Serpent Temple

  The strength of her will was such that Slater had no choice but obey. He followed Mondilla as she climbed the spiral path which wound its way round the small white hill until it reached the top. Every few strides, she would stop for a second with her arms outstretched and raise them over her head. Cupping her palms as though she had caught a butterfly, she drew them down, splitting her hands over her head to follow the contours of her body. The first time she did this, he nearly walked into her, but after that, he looked out for it. Each place she stopped was humming with energy.

  As if this thought was the key which unlocked his gift, he began to see the energy lines crossing the hill. The spiral path they were treading was a blue water line like the one under the altar stone, and the lines crossing it were white or silvery grey. Mondilla stopped for a little longer at the next line which was dazzling white, tinged with blue and a lot thicker than the rest. It curved round toward the Swallowhead spring and the long barrow at West Kennet, and his intuition confirmed it was the Mary line.

  Following Mondilla, Slater noticed her clothing was far more sophisticated than anything he’d seen at Stonehenge. Her long tunic was made of several panels of different coloured skins giving vertical stripes in green, white, mauve, black and yellow. They were stitched together with a broad thread so the seams looked like the edges of the woollen blankets his mother used in the cold weather.

  His attention was snagged by a silver line heading west toward a clump of trees and then another one pointing directly toward Windmill hill. A fourth line was offset from the centre, pointing north. The Mary line came out of the other side of the hill, pointing toward Aveburgh. Following the priestess, Slater watched as she began to glow. He realised that at every pause, she was collecting energy from each of the spirit lines and storing it within her body. She looked back at him with a smile. ‘You see spirit – you are wicca.’

  He wanted to ask why she was gathering energy, but as they reached the top, he sensed the ritual was nearing completion. Sure enough, at the hill’s summit, the three energy lines crossed to form a triangle with the Mary line passing through the centre.

  As she walked sunwise round the triangle three times, every part of Mondilla’s body glowed brightly. Finally, she followed the Mary line until it reached the centre. Aligning herself with the distant hill tops, she held her arms outstretched to the sky as she prayed to the Moon and Sun to help her restore the energy to the earth to complete the harvests. Rotatin
g slowly widdershins, she unwound the stored energy, bringing her arms down gradually as she turned.

  Slater watched, entranced, as the bright energy drained from her body. When she finished, her face looked younger and softer – she was not much older than his mother. As the glow dimmed, he spotted the leather girdle around her waist, marking her as a shaman. Unlike Tauroch’s simple belt, hers had several thin leather thongs knotted to give a complex, lacy pattern. From this hung several pouches and other tools of her craft: dried herb bundles, small bones and wooden implements, the purpose of which he couldn’t even begin to guess.

  From the largest pouch, Mondilla pulled a circlet of woven branches bound with twine. Brightly-coloured strips of leather unfurled to hang down her back as she placed it on her head. This was the signal for the youngsters waiting at the bottom of the hill to start racing to the top. They didn’t follow the spiral path she had, but tried to run straight up the sides, despite the efforts of the slippery chalk to send them sliding back down again. As the first boy reached the summit, Mondilla spun in a sunwise direction, much more quickly than before. The boy’s task was to try and grab one of the strips as they whirled past. Each person who caught a ribbon won a prize or a penalty depending on the colour.

  The first lad caught the green and looked very happy. Mondilla projected an image of the boy’s family being presented with a basket of crops from the first harvest. The next one was Finlun; he was gratified to wear the shiny yellow crown of the sun God. The next boy snagged the blue strip and was immediately soaked in water from a skin. Lunella was next – she got the white band, giving her the moon Goddess crown. The next two got a basket of berries for the purple and a forfeit to jump the bonfire for the red. Diltan got the black which won two tail feathers from a raven, used to ward off evil spirits. That only left the brown; the unlucky boy was pelted with a clod of earth.

  As everyone made their way down the hill, Mondilla again took Slater’s arm, demanding his attention. ‘Stop. Look there. What do you see?’

  He followed her outstretched finger toward the east to a small mound topped with a wooden structure. ‘We call it the Sanctuary. But I think it’s a bit bigger than that in my time.’

  ‘Bigger?’

  ‘Larger, greater.’ Slater mimed growing in size.

  ‘Many things are bigger in your time.’ Her tone was dry as she turned south and pointed again. ‘What do you see there?’

  ‘That’s the burial mound at West Kennet. It is no longer used in my time. And the trees to the right of it mark the Swallowhead spring.’

  ‘What is this spring?’

  ‘A source of water which swells the river Kennet at Imbolc and floods the fields.’ He pointed at the fields to the north of the mound and she nodded.

  ‘We know it as the well of Eald Gaia.’ She turned him to face west. ‘What do you see?’

  ‘Nothing, unless you count the trees at Knoll Down. I can’t see anything there apart from the spirit line from the Sanctuary.’

  ‘Free your mind and look hard.’

  Focusing on the ridge, he saw a white line which snaked around the smaller silver line. It crossed the western loop of the Mary line, and then curved up toward Aveburgh. Except a closer examination revealed no sign of the stone circles or great avenues of stones.

  ‘Show me what you see.’

  He jumped at the touch of her cool fingers on his temples. She held his head firmly and his eyes closed involuntarily. Without his consent, his brain displayed images of the present-day temple. Using his mind, she followed the arrangements of stones from the sanctuary through to the Beckhampton avenue.

  ‘I saw it well. My temple will be built and will last for the lives of many sons.’

  ‘Your temple?’

  ‘I see Durren temple of Solah and Lunai, and it is good, but the Gods are proud. If we build a temple for Solah and one for Lunai, they are glad and will give good harvest. Cows and sheep are fat and babies do not die.’

  Slater nodded his agreement. ‘We use the moon temple to honour Lunai and the sun temple to honour Solah. It tells us when to plant the crops and when to harvest them. There are also healing energies at certain stones which vary throughout the year.’

  ‘You will tell me more about your temple. Come.’

  How long he spent with the beautiful sorceress, Slater could not be sure; time had no meaning here. Walking to her dwelling, he began to have doubts about what might happen if he got it wrong, but when he got there, he could see there was no need. One side of the hut was devoted to a tiny model of the Aveburgh henge with both temples marked out by small pebbles.

  A table had been laid with food and drink. She offered a beaker of juice and a platter laden with bread, meat and cheese, suggesting he renew his strength as he examined the temple.

  The two approach avenues were outlined with seeds leading to a tiny sanctuary at one end and a long barrow at the other. A small mound of earth had been shaped in the centre for Silburgh hill, about the same size as the one for Windmill hill. A length of twine snaked round where the river Kennet would flow to the Swallowhead spring.

  A solid line had been drawn in the dusty earth to represent the Michael spirit line and a dotted Mary line wound its way round all the monuments. Mondilla watched him, looking for some kind of reaction.

  ‘It is good likeness?’

  ‘Almost identical. Except our Silburgh Hill and sanctuary are bigger.’ Studying the model, he noticed a line emerging from the long barrow at the end of the Beckhampton avenue.

  ‘What is this?’ Munching on an under-ripe, but tasty pear, he pointed to where the line split into two spirals at Knoll Down, each curling in opposite directions.

  ‘The tail of the serpent. This is the beginning of the spirit power, and when we light the fire it journeys through the land, renewing the earth force.’

  Taking the empty platter away, she placed her hands on his head and Slater had a vision of a chain of bonfires being lit up and down the country. The line of fire restored the energy all the way from the most easterly coast to the most westerly tip. He drew in a breath at the image – it was a huge undertaking, something no longer done in his time.

  She removed her hands and gestured at the model. ‘What else do you see?’

  Opening his eyes, he examined the henge more closely, seeing the familiar bank and ditch. Pebbles represented the outer ring of stones, but there were no portal stones marking the north and south exits. He explained this and she asked him to show her. After flattening a gap in the outer bank, he removed the stone blocking it. Picking up two pebbles from a pile, he used them to replace the two small pebbles flanking the entry from the avenue.

  ‘What is wrong with these?’ She held up the ones he had discarded, examining them for some flaw.

  ‘Nothing. But in my time there are large stones marking the path of the Michael current to the north and south.’

  ‘Write the likeness.’ She handed him a stick, indicating the earth and he understood she meant him to draw the shape, so he sketched the outline of the portal stones at the entrances. Taking one of the small pebbles, he used it to make a small indentation on the southern portal stone to represent the priest’s seat, explaining this was used by the Magi who led the rituals in the sun temple.

  ‘Follow me.’

  Once more her command was given without any suggestion he might not obey. Her hut was by the side of the river, five minutes’ walk from the henge. As they followed the Michael line, he saw markers where the stones would be raised. The setting sun shone directly in his eyes and he was glad when the path curved northward – even gladder when he spotted the two familiar portal stones. They had already been raised to mark the entrance; however, there was no bank and he could see no other stones in the outer ring.

  When they reached the priest’s seat, she commanded him to sit. With a nervous glance to satisfy himself he would not be in trouble with any of the elders, he sat in the natural seat. As the back of his head touched th
e stone, it took all of his courage not to leap straight back out again.

  18 – Betrayal

  Slater was trapped, tethered to the tall stone in the centre of the sun temple. No visible ropes or chains bound him, but an unknown force secured him just as effectively. He had never been so scared in his life. The lack of people heightened the menace of the solemn chants. It sounded like many voices united in prayer. The rays from the setting sun blinded him but, try as he might, he could not move his head to look away, nor close his eyes.

  Lowering his gaze to reduce the glare, he saw his jacket had been replaced by a long white robe. Something even more worrying caught his attention. A huge, dark shadow crept toward him, full of malevolent intent. He could not see it properly but his gaze snagged on the glimmer of silver at the top.

  With mounting alarm, he recognised it was unnaturally tall for a man, but not for a man with his arm raised, holding a dagger ready to plunge in Slater’s heart. Every muscle in his body tried to prepare for action as the blood pumped round, urging him to flee the danger. His head pulsed with a frantic energy as the shadow came so close he could almost feel the man’s breath. Then, three things happened.

  The chanting stopped, to be replaced by a scream of terror which came from his own lips. The black shadow touched his heart, and the sun boiled red with his blood.

  ‘Slater. You must awaken.’ The voice was urgent as a hand shook his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he felt the cold, hard stone beneath his cheek; he had collapsed while sitting in the priest’s seat.

  ‘What happened to …?’

  ‘There is no time, the sunset rite must begin. Come.’