The Summoning

by Robert Wingfield

  Inside the castle, the wind was considerably less. The rain seemed to have abated for a while. It felt warmer. Ankerita opened her coat.

  “Does it feel different to you in here?” Jo took her own coat off completely. “Like, more hospitable somehow.”

  “Yes, that is odd, but nothing more than I would expect. I didn’t tell you, but as I saw the castle across the fields, I also saw the way it would have looked before it was ruined. That’s how I know there’s something for us here.”

  “Like that?” Jo grabbed Ankerita’s arm, and pointed.

  Standing in the centre of the courtyard was a man in armour. His head was bowed and he held a long sword by the hilt, its point resting on the cobbles.

  “Something like that.”

  Jo gaped, and then suddenly laughed. “Stupid me, it’s only a statue. I’m getting spooked without reason. On the other hand,” she gazed up at the sky, “is it my imagination, or is it getting darker?”

  “It is getting darker,” said Ankerita. “I can feel that this place is changing. We’ve triggered something by coming here, or at least I hope we have.”

  “You want to see something?” Jo glanced around nervously.

  “Of course. I’d be disappointed if we didn’t. We still have the rest of the treasures to track down. Why shouldn’t this be where to find the next one?”

  “And why should it be? Oh my God.” Jo grabbed her friend’s arm. “The statue like moved.”

  The girls stared in fascination as the knight raised his head and looked directly at them. He took a step forward, and then another, as if uncertain of his footing. They shrank against the wall.

  “I didn’t expect this,” said Ankerita, nervously. “I thought I would simply get the crystal out and it would show us where the next artefact is hidden.” She drew the rondel from her bag. It seemed pathetically small compared with the broadsword the knight was wielding. He strode forward, towards them.

  “Keep back.” Ankerita waved the dagger. “I know how to use this. It’s devilish sharp.”

  The knight stopped. They caught a glint from his eyes inside the helmet.

  “We mean you no harm.” Jo grabbed Ankerita’s other hand. As she came into contact with the ring, the castle solidified into sharp focus. It was still dark, but she could see every detail, every blade of grass, every link in the knight’s chain-mail, and the keenness of his broadsword blade.

  “Who are you?” Ankerita demanded. “Tell me your name, Sir Knight.”

  “I might ask the same,” boomed the man over the roar of the wind. “Who are you to enter my citadel uninvited?”

  Ankerita thought quickly. “Lady Ankerita Leighton, former anchorite, and my maid, er, Joanna of Zealand Abbey.”

  “Maid?” Jo snorted.

  “Shh.” Ankerita squeezed her hand.

  “I know not of this place, Zealand,” said the knight, “but I see you are well-bred and pious, and know of your family, my lady. They are good people. You are welcome here. I am duty bound to provide the necessary shelter for the fair sex, unescorted on this stormy evening.” He struggled, and removed his helmet, revealing a grizzled face with a trimmed beard. “You will be my guests.”

  “Thank God for that,” said Ankerita quietly.

  “Follow me.” The knight set off towards the ruins of the massive gatehouse. “I will show you your quarters.”

  “Come on.” Ankerita took hold of Jo’s arm. “Keep up; we may be about to cross worlds.”

  “I hope the new one is a bit drier,” muttered Jo.

  As they passed through a broken doorway, the building seemed to shift. Instead of a bare room, open to the skies as it was, they were in a chamber with a roaring fire.

  “Come,” said the knight. “Upstairs there is food ready on the table.”

  The girls followed the armoured man up a wide staircase into what must have been the great hall; the room took up the whole of the floor of the building. Another fire was burning in a huge fireplace, and a rough table was laid with places for a dozen. In the middle was a roasted pig, and a jug of liquid.

  “I hope you’re not a vegetarian, today,” whispered Ankerita to her friend.

  “I gave all that up when I knew I was dying,” replied Jo. “It looks delicious, Mr Knight. I’m starving.” She sat and used the big knife beside it to saw a hunk of meat off the pig. She poured a tankard of the liquid and smacked her lips. “Bang on,” she said. “What is it?”

  Ankerita sniffed at the jug. “Mead,” she whispered. “Don’t drink too much; it’s very strong.”

  “Please do eat and drink your fill,” said the knight. “What do you think of my home? It has the latest defences and devices of war, impregnable, but I need it to be that way.”

  “Who are you, actually?” asked Jo, through a mouthful of pork and rough bread.

  “Forgive me, ladies.” The man pulled himself up to full height. “I am Thomas Plantagenet, Second Earl of Lancaster, and lord over the north of England and the Scottish Marches.”

  “What year is this?” asked Ankerita thoughtfully.

  Thomas shook his head. “Do you know, I’m not sure?”

  “Perhaps we can guess. When did you complete the castle?”

  “That would have been the Year of Our Lord, 1319,” said Thomas after a pause.

  “Are you trying to tell me that we are in the 14th Century?” Jo sprayed pork and mead across the table. The knight seemed pleased.

  “Your wench has a good appetite,” he said. Jo Scowled.

  “Yes, Zealand Abbey brought us up to appreciate the finer trappings of life,” said Ankerita, quickly.

  “You must belong to the ‘Poor Clare’ order,” said the knight. “I’ve heard things about your sparing use of sustenance. You both look as though you could do with some good food.” He stood up to poke at the fire.

  “Don’t be taken in. These may simply be visions,” Ankerita whispered to her friend.

  “It feels very real,” replied Jo. “And the pork is delicious. You should try some.” She stopped. “Hang on, if this is medieval, didn’t the nobles all speak French?”

  “I am conversing in French.” The knight returned. “As are you. You speak very well.”

  “I spent a year in France,” said Jo, “and picked up a few words. I guess you were, like, brought up on it?”

  “And Latin,” said Ankerita. “It’s this ‘English’ thing I have trouble with. So tell me what you remember, Sir Thomas,” she added, politely.

  The knight’s face clouded. “Gaveston,” he said. “He was my downfall.”

  “Piers Gaveston, I remember reading about him. The King’s favourite at that time.”

  “I was a loyal subject of King Edward Longshanks,” said Thomas. “We fought the Scots together, curse the Scots.” He raised his mug, and took a swig.

  “Curse the Scots,” echoed Jo, drunkenly raising hers too.

  “Shhh.” Ankerita poked her.

  “When he died,” continued the knight after staring at Jo for a moment, “I swore allegiance to his son, but the boy was more interested in his strange friends than defending the Crown.”

  “Drôle?” suggested Jo.

  Ankerita put her head in her hands, but the knight merely nodded sadly. “I killed Gaveston, but the boy king never forgave me, even though it was best for England. Then we got slaughtered at Bannockburn, curse the Bruce...”

  “Shut it,” said Ankerita, as Jo opened her mouth. “What’s got into you?”

  “...and for a few years, I had control, while I tried to get the masons to complete the castle. I was virtually king for a while, but the boy latched on to the Earl of Winchester, and I had to make a run for it. I was coming here, when they caught me at Boroughbridge. The Winchesters gave me a show trial, and they wouldn’t let me defend myself. I was sentenced to hanging, drawing and quartering as a traitor... but I never was; I only ever wanted England to be strong.”

 
; “What a horrible fate,” said Jo. “It was barbaric.”

  “Because of my Plantagenet blood,” said Thomas, “they commuted the sentence.”

  “That was a relief.”

  “Not really, they altered it to a simple beheading. A more noble way to die. The same as we did to Gaveston, who didn’t deserve it. I wish we’d have also done the Winchesters as we were purging the country.” He looked thoughtful. “They found some useless monk to do the deed. He took three blows to have my head off. It hurt like Hell, I can tell you.”

  “So, you’re like dead?” said Jo, nonchalantly. “Are you a ghost?”

  “I don’t know,” said the knight. “Am I?”

  “You must be. We are from the twenty-first century. Can’t you see our clothes look different?”

  “I agree you look strange,” said Thomas, “but I put that down to your monastic lifestyle. And you say it is a different millennium?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “I must rightly be a ghost.” Thomas regarded his hands, as if he expected them not to be there.

  “And if you’re a ghost, shouldn’t you be like walking around rattling chains and carrying your head under your arm?”

  “If I’m a ghost,” said the knight, seemingly riled by Jo’s sarcasm, “I can appear how I like. You will show me respect, madam, or I will show you my dungeon.”

  “She didn’t mean anything by it.” Ankerita butted in. “She is foreign, and they don’t understand these things.”

  Jo glared at her.

  “I will forgive her this time,” said Thomas, “but watch your tongue, madam, or I will have it cut out.”

  “Sir Thomas,” said Ankerita, after a break to chew the meat on the table, “I have heard tales of a treasure interred in this fortress.”

  “Of that I would not know,” said Thomas. “But there is a hidden passage out on the cliffs. It is said to be haunted. I have not gone down there. It might be a good place to try.”

  “A ghost being afraid of ghosts?” giggled Jo.

  “Please be quiet, babe,” said Ankerita. “Sir Thomas, would you show us please?”

  “Have you eaten your fill?” The knight leaned on his chair and put his hands behind his head.

  “It was lovely, thank you. Your hospitality is faultless.”

  “So it is said.” The knight stood up. “We should waste no more time. Come with me.”

  The courtyard was breezy, but seemed warmer than before. Stars were showing through the clouds. “It can’t be that late,” said Jo. “Let me check my phone.” She drew out the device, but the screen was blank. “I charged it in the pub this morning,” she said. “The battery can’t be flat.”

  “I don’t know,” said Ankerita, “but keep up with the Earl. He seems to know where he’s going.”

  Thomas collected a burning torch from a sconce in the wall, and led the girls through a gate on the clifftop, and then down a winding path clinging to the rocks. “This is the way to the harbour,” he said. “The entrance is down here. We use it for shelter and rest when unloading. I keep the secret way sealed.”

  Half way down the cliff, Thomas showed them into a sizeable cave, and went to a door at the back. He drew out a large iron key, fitted it into the lock and with some difficulty turned it. “Beware the spirits of the dead,” he said. “If you return, I will be awaiting you in the Great Hall.” He lit another torch from his and handed it to Ankerita. “Take some spares. When this one starts to burn low, light the next. The passages go deep.”

  “Is this, like, a good idea?” asked Jo nervously, as they started their exploration of the tunnel. All trace of the effect of the mead seemed to have disappeared as soon as they left the castle building.

  “We have to search,” replied Ankerita in the lead. “Surely down here is a likely place for a treasure to be hidden?”

  “I guess so. I’ve got some chalk out of your car. I’ll mark the walls, so we can, like, find our way back.”

  They walked on in silence for a few minutes, and a sudden draught rushed along the tunnel. The torch guttered and went out.

  “That’s the end of our adventure,” said Jo. “We can’t search if we can’t see.”

  “No, we’ll have find the entrance again to relight the torch. Next time we’ll have a couple at the ready. I should have thought of that. Ow, that’s my arm!”

  Jo’s fingers dug in. She pointed, but the gesture was wasted in the darkness. “What’s that there?”

  As Ankerita’s eyes became used to the gloom, she could make out a dim glow down the tunnel ahead. “Yes, there is something. Is it getting brighter?”

  “Looks like it’s coming nearer. We should run?”

  “No, this is what I would have expected.”

  “You’re mad.”

  “But right, again. Hang on to me, if you’re scared.”

  “Of course I’m not scared. Cautious perhaps.” She gripped her friend’s arm. Ankerita smiled in the darkness.

  The light approached slowly. There was a flash, and standing in front of them was a hideous old man, a black cloak swirling about him, as if in a breeze. The air, though, was still.

  “We search for the Halter of Clydno Eiddin,” Ankerita challenged him. “You will know where it is.”

  The old man stared keenly at the girls, and spoke in a cracked voice. “You are most perceptive. You may follow me if you search for that treasure,” he said. “The way is dangerous and you might not return. Do you dare?”

  “That’s why we’re here,” said Ankerita brightly, before Jo could reply. “Lead on, ancient guide.”

  They seemed to be walking down the ancient stone tunnels forever. The old man gave off a dim glow, which led them through a labyrinth of passages. Jo tried to continue marking the walls as they passed, but it was difficult to keep up. They went down spiral stairways and along twisting passageways. There were many branches to the warren that showed up in the old man’s ghost-light, too many to try to remember a route. There would be no going back.

  When it began to look as though they would spend the rest of their lives underground, the old man stopped.

  “Up here.” He indicated a wide staircase.

  “After you,” said Ankerita, and then as an aside to Jo. “I don’t trust this crossbiter one little bit.”

  “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” The man was hesitant.

  “Lead the way,” said Ankerita, “or we will assume patchery, and you will feel my steel.”

  “As you wish.” The old man gave her a shifty look. “You have no need to be distrustful. We are at our destination.”

  He pushed open a pair of solid wooden doors. They re-emerged in the courtyard of the castle they had recently left.

  “That was a waste...” Jo began, and then she gaped. It was dark; the air was heavy, warm and dreamlike. The whole of creation seemed to twinkle in the stars overhead, but where the enclosure had previously been empty, on the ground, spread out as far as they could see...

  “Here is your treasure.” The old man gave a cackle, regarding the expressions of horror on the girls’ faces.

  The space seemed to be packed with bodies: men and women, mostly in uniforms from many different cultures and times. There were horses, dogs, and some other creatures that were difficult to identify in the cloying dark.

  “Are they all dead?” asked Jo nervously.

  “Sleeping,” said the man. “I welcome you to Kathartirion, the world between the worlds. This is where the souls of warriors await judgement... or forgiveness on their way to their new resting places. You will find many people here, evil or good; as you know, it is all about perspective.”

  “Shit, we’ve died,” said Jo. “Like, at least it didn’t hurt.”

  Ankerita peered at the face of the nearest sleeper, and gasped. “I’m afraid we’re rather in unfortunate company,” she said. “This ‘pandar-toad’ here is none other than Fantasia’s thug, C
hris Praed, and that one looks like someone else I knew. O Lord...”

  “What, this one?” Jo poked the cadaver with a foot. “He’s not going to wake up.”

  “Where is Yolo Jones?”

  “Who?”

  “The worst of the lot of them, Yolo Jones. He should be here too.”

  “I expect he is somewhere. From what you said of the battle at the warehouse, he wasn’t going to, like, walk away from what happened, was he? We will be good as gold, as long as they don’t wake up.”

  “They’re not going to wake up, are they?” Ankerita challenged the old man.

  “You have to make a choice. See.” He pointed, and they saw in the centre of the crowd, a raised white stone slab.

  “Oh my Lord, look who it is.”

  “Gorgeous hair,” said Jo. “I wish I had some of that.” She began to step carefully between the sleeping people. “Is she okay?”

  “This is what you seek,” said the man. “This is your treasure, far beyond any trinkets you might find. This is the resting place of Genet of Siwaldston.”

  “Can she be roused?” asked Ankerita, unimpressed.

  “Er, of course,” said the old man. “You can awaken her with a simple choice. Go, stand at the side of the tomb.”

  The three of them stepped over the prone figures and stood by the stone. Jo gave a squeak. “O.M.G., look at the carvings on this thing.”

  All around the raised slab were horrendous images of torture and violence, murder and worse. Ankerita gazed down at the face of the witch. She was young and beautiful, with a mass of striking red hair. At her throat was a necklace set with pale blue stones that seemed to reflect the light of the stars. She was wearing a richly embroidered smock.

  “What has she done to deserve this?”

  The man said nothing. He was watching Jo intently.

  “What are these for?” Jo broke the awed silence. She picked up a horn lying beside Genet. “Do I blow it? What about this?” She fingered a sword that was placed on the other side of the witch.

  “The fate of the maid depends on you,” said the old man, finally. “Which will you choose to awaken her? A simple choice, sword or horn.”