Reagan (Hengist-People of the Horse Book 3)

by Jacky Gray

  Taryn and Molan exchanged glances of dread as Malduc’s tone became even fiercer. ‘If you even think an unworthy thought or attempt to tell a lie, you will suffer in ways you could never imagine.’ He paused, fixing each one of them with a stern glare, before continuing. ‘The willow wand you have been using for the past few weeks now holds an imprint of your deepest thoughts. If you are not true to yourself, the willow will reveal your dishonour.’

  With a collective gasp, many of the boys dropped their wands as though they’d been burned. The air was thick with the scents of cinnamon, musk and rosemary from the candles and fires burning round the room.

  ‘Silence please. You have five minutes to write down the three things you have done which you are most ashamed of. They could be things from any time in your life, but they must be actual instances where you have done wrong.’

  Almost every boy exchanged horrified or puzzled glance with his neighbours. Malduc acknowledged their confusion with a nod. ‘You may talk quietly to the people next to you if you’re struggling to think of something, but your work on the willow-moon dreams should guide you.’

  He waited for the slight buzz to quieten. ‘When your name is called, you will then repent your sins.’

  Reagan stared at his parchment in dismay. How could he possibly write down his three biggest sins? Closing his eyes, he grasped his willow wand with both hands, praying for inspiration, but all he saw was the white horse. When his name was called, he awoke as from a trance and submitted to the blindfold with a feeling of dread.

  4 Imbolc Initiation

  ‘State your name.’ The tone was cold and hard, the sort of voice you would not want to disobey.

  ‘Reagan, sir.’

  ‘And why have you come here on this eve of Imbolc?’

  ‘To …’ his voice broke with nerves and he cleared his throat, ‘… to repent my sins, sir.’

  ‘So, Reagan. What is the first sin you wish to repent?’

  ‘I – I don’t know, sir.’

  ‘I understand you may be nervous. Hand me your parchment and wand.’

  Reagan’s heart sank as he handed them over.

  ‘Empty? Are you so perfect you have never sinned?’

  ‘No, sir. I simply – my mind went blank and I couldn’t think of anything.’ The willow wand was placed back into his hand.

  ‘Have you ever sinned against this village or council?’

  ‘No, sir, never. I always do my duties and try to study hard at lehren.’

  The voice softened. ‘I have heard tell you are a good student. What about your parents?’

  Reagan dropped his head as the willow showed him the incident with his mother. ‘I had an unacceptable thought toward my mother. I disagreed with something she said about someone.’

  ‘Were you disrespectful? Did you argue with her?’

  ‘Not exactly. I said something under my breath which she did not hear. Then I walked away before she finished talking because I did not want to listen to her opinions.’

  ‘I see. Are you ashamed of your actions?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Next time I must wait to hear what she has to say before leaving. It was quite rude.’

  ‘I sense you are sorry for your sin and will try to respect your mother in future.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And what about your father? Are you disrespectful toward him?’

  ‘No, sir, never. My father wouldn’t try to make me into something I am not.’ Reagan heard a tiny sound from the back of the room, but the voice continued.

  ‘And yet I sense there is something you’re ashamed of. What is it?’

  Reagan’s shoulders lifted in the ghost of a shrug. ‘When he congratulated me on winning the garlanding, I thought his praise was not genuine, only meant to make me feel better.’

  ‘And is that not a good thing? Praising someone to make them feel better about themselves?’

  ‘No, I mean, yes. It’s always good to try and make someone feel better about themselves. I simply felt he said it as he would for his job, that he wasn’t really proud of me.’

  ‘You need your father to be proud of you, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Because my mother never will be.’

  ‘You must know that isn’t true. Your mother is proud of you. But maybe she wishes something for you which you don’t wish for yourself.’

  ‘That’s for sure.’

  ‘So really, you have nothing to repent regarding your father. You haven’t actually done anything wrong as far as he is concerned, have you?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘Alright. Would you like to tell me about your third sin? Something from your dreams, perhaps?’

  ‘I didn’t get much apart from a white horse and Stonehenge.’

  ‘Something or someone else; either at home or at lehren. There must be something you feel you didn’t do, or someone you hurt without meaning to.’

  ‘Nothing I can think of.’ Reagan shook his head. Amid the following pause, he heard the rustle of parchment.

  ‘Tell me about Edlyn.’

  ‘He’s a bully. He bullies his sister and he tried to bully me. I refused to let him.’

  ‘But you weren’t disrespectful in any way? Remember he is a senior.’

  ‘I told him boys don’t hurt girls; that’s not how we are supposed to behave.’

  ‘But you weren’t rude to him.’

  ‘Certainly not. As you said, he’s a senior.’

  ‘It sounds to me like you don’t have very much to repent, Reagan. I think you understand the basic principles we live our lives by and you follow them as much as you can. Would you like to remove your blindfold?’

  Reagan recognised the man asking the questions as Tegan, the father of one of the girls in his class.

  ‘Well done, Reagan. That’s the hardest part of the ritual over. Now you must write three words representing the three sins on this parchment, add a drop of blood to seal your oath, then burn it in the flames.’ As Reagan wrote three words, Tegan sterilised a pin in the candle flame, then pricked Reagan’s finger to draw blood. He gestured at the small cauldron next to the candle, containing the ashes of many scraps of parchment.

  ‘As it burns, you need to pledge three things to make amends for your sins.’

  Reagan did as instructed, promising to honour his mother and father and to help his friends whenever he could. He was then directed to another room where the other boys who had already repented their sins were sitting round comparing experiences. When every boy had completed the ritual, they were led down to the winter house where the girls had been holding their side of the ritual. Each boy knocked on the door, asking permission to enter the Bride house, and paid their respects to the Brideog, or bride, as she lay in her cot. The boys stayed until midnight, drinking warm milk spiced with cinnamon and vanilla and eating poppy-seed topped honey cakes. After they left, the girls continued their vigil to welcome the return of the sun.

  Pausing as he made notes about Imbolc, Reagan wondered if he would be breaking some sort of code if he wrote details of the ritual. He asked his father about the necessity for secrecy.

  ‘Because if you knew exactly what to expect, it wouldn’t have made such an impression on you.’

  ‘But why all the nonsense about blood and fire?’

  ‘The fire was all around you.’

  ‘Yes, I understand the symbolism of burning the things you’re ashamed of to purge them from your system. But the blood? All that fuss over one tiny drop.’

  ‘Do not underestimate the power of a blood-sealed oath.’

  ‘And the Willow whip?’

  ‘I’m not sure where the phrase originated. Presumably the idea of a wand isn’t as frightening as a whip.’

  ‘So the willow wand can’t really tell if you’re lying.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. The willow does have some special properties, but a boy is more likely to tell the truth if he thinks there are terrible consequences. That is really the biggest le
sson you can learn: if you tell a lie, you’re letting yourself down. I understand you did particularly well in the initiation.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘People talk about these things.’ When he got to lehren, Reagan found out how his father really knew.

  ‘How unfair is that? The girls don’t have to go through anything like the same ordeal we do.’ Molan complained long and loud to anyone who would listen.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Rowena was fed up hearing this kind of complaint. ‘We might not be quaking in our boots at the idea of some kind of physical torture ...’

  ‘Which turns out to be nothing more than repenting a few sins with a blindfold on.’ Amiera matched her mocking tone.

  ‘And don’t forget about pricking their fingers.’

  ‘Oh, the pain.’ The girls didn’t often get the chance to poke fun at Molan and were making the most of it.

  Molan didn’t like it, his face turning a dull red as he protested. ‘It was much worse than that.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Because we were led to believe we would be whipped and there would be blood and fire and …’

  ‘But you only had to write something down on a piece of parchment and burn it. We did that too.’ Rowena folded her arms and shook her head.

  ‘You wrote down your sins? I didn’t think the girls had to do that.’ Taryn looked puzzled.

  ‘They didn’t. They just wrote down a boy’s name to see if he fancied them. What a chore.’ Molan sounded bitter.

  ‘Yeah, well at least you don’t have to bleed every month …’ Amiera nudged her arm and Rowena realised she had allowed herself to be goaded into talking about something not normally discussed with boys.

  Taryn seemed horrified by the idea. ‘What, does someone cut you, or do you have to cut yourself?’

  ‘Do you get cut in the same place every month? What if you faint at the sight of blood?’ Molan leaned forward, his expression intent.

  ‘Just shut up about it. If you really want to know, look it up in the librarie. We’re not going to say any more.’ The girls walked away, but Reagan called them back.

  ‘Don’t go. We promise to stop asking. It’s simply ...’ he shrugged, ‘all the secrecy.’

  ‘And you didn’t let me finish telling you about the worst bit.’ Molan was bursting to share his news, determined the boys had suffered most.

  ‘Yes you did. Talking about your darkest thoughts and inner feelings is hard for boys but we girls do it all the time.’

  ‘But not in front of your parents.’

  ‘What are you saying, Molan? Someone else’s father heard my penance.’ Regan got his remark in just before Taryn’s comment. ‘But my parents weren’t there.’

  ‘I’m afraid your parents heard it all. They were in a small room at the back. They know everything.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because my mother’s been making my life a misery all morning. She knows things I never told anyone before.’

  ‘That’s terrible. Why would they do that?’

  ‘Because apparently it’s the only way to make sure wayward boys turn into decent young men. By letting the council know the sort of things they are capable of doing.’

  ‘And making sure their parents know as well. That’s positively sneaky. I love it.’

  As the rest grinned at Taryn’s wit, Reagan thought back to the small sound he’d heard. He knew it well; it was his mother’s gasp. Which meant she heard everything. He closed his eyes.

  ‘Are you alright, Reagan? I can’t imagine you’ve got anything to be worried about.’

  He smiled weakly at Amiera’s concern. ‘Not much, no. Simply that my mother now knows I think her opinions are rubbish. It’s going to make life interesting for a while.’

  ‘Until she forgets all about it because there’s some new gossip in the village.’

  ‘Harsh, but true.’ Taryn’s witty response to Molan’s comment had everyone laughing. It seemed everyone knew what Reagan’s mother was like. Even so, it wasn’t fair for a parent to know their son’s innermost thoughts. Molan was right; the girls did get off lightly.

  5 Uffington

  As Molan predicted, Reagan’s mother only acted hurt for a day. After that, she became too distracted by the latest scandal to remember why she’d felt hurt. She tried to insist he pay a penance by running extra errands.

  ‘You can go to the market on Saturnday morning.’

  ‘I’m sorry my dear, but I’m afraid he won’t be able to make it because Malduc has asked him to a meeting,’ said his father.

  ‘Malduc wants to see Reagan? What have you done?’ His mother’s expression said she’d immediately thought the worst.

  ‘He’s not in trouble at all. Rather the reverse, I think.’ He turned to Reagan. ‘Tegan was so impressed with the way you performed at your initiation; he made a special mention of it in the meeting today. Well done son.’

  ‘Oh Reagan, that’s wonderful, you are so clever. It must be all the studying you’ve been doing at the librarie.’

  Don’t overdo it, Mother, it wasn’t that great. Determined to be respectful, Reagan crushed the dishonourable thought as it passed through his brain. She was trying hard, maybe too hard, to make up for her attitude. ‘It’s kind of you to say so Mother, but I simply enjoy learning.’

  ‘If you carry on this way, I’m sure you’ll be chosen as a Worthy. Which would be wonderful.’

  ‘Steady on, Alaina, don’t get your hopes up too high. You’re putting a lot of pressure on the lad. Let him enjoy himself, he always works hard. I’m sure his efforts will be rewarded.’

  That night, Reagan’s dream took on a new form. After giving up his willow wand, he spent a couple of nights tossing and turning, unable to relax enough to fall asleep. On the few occasions he reached the enchanted place between awake and asleep, the white horse appeared. But every time he tried to mount her, she shied away from him, and he would wake up. During the day, he went to his favourite willow tree, sitting beneath the golden branches. Holding a branch in his left hand, he closed his eyes and his mind to everything but the fresh, subtle smells of the tree and the grass. Placing his right hand on the knobbly bark, he made his request.

  As he asked for one of the branches, a vision of the white horse appeared in his head, nudging him gently and snorting a soft, friendly sound, inviting him to climb up. They galloped, first to Stonehenge, then to the henge at Aveburgh. The wind blew through the tree, stirring the branches, and the one he held broke away from the tree as a sign he was welcome to use the power to help his dreams. Kneeling, he left his offering, gave thanks and wished for clement weather to help her grow and prosper.

  With the branch under his pillow, he fell asleep quickly that night and the white horse seemed eager to continue her journey. He recognised the first place, a little north of Stonehenge. Another henge, but only the holes remained where wooden posts had been driven into the ground centuries before. As he said aloud the name Woodhenge, the horse seemed satisfied he’d recognised the place, and sped on to the next point in the journey.

  This was the most sacred of the white horse carvings, created many centuries before the Hengist people had come to this land. He’d seen it once, during a trip from lehren. The class had been taken in carts to Badburgh hill where they’d marvelled at the complete shape of the hill sculpture from a distance. A couple of hours later, they reached the famous white curves but were disappointed when they could not recognise the shape.

  They walked along its back from the head to the tip of its tail, measuring out the distance of more than one hundred paces. Some of the bolder boys lay down inside the curves, getting their clothes covered in the dusty chalk. But no matter where they stood, they could not see the whole figure as a horse. Professor Jadon had brought pictures of the complete carving so they could make sense of the shapes. Everyone went away with a sense of being somehow cheated. Most of the other white horses were best viewed from a distance but, close
up, they still looked like horses.

  In his dream, Reagan paused to look at the familiar hill, but his mount seemed impatient for him to say the name so she could move on. Then something incredible happened. In her eagerness to keep moving, his special white horse did something a real horse could not do. Galloping up to the top of the hill with no apparent effort at all, she launched herself off the crest and flew into the air so he could see the elegant shape in its entirety. He was filled with awe at the sight few people would see, and forgot to breathe. After a short while, his vision became clouded by blackness. In the instant before he lost consciousness, he whispered the word: Uffington.

  6 Crop Patterns

  ‘Sit down Reagan. Thank you for coming. Can I offer you some milk or spiced honey ale?’

  ‘Thank you. A small glass of honey ale, please.’

  Malduc returned with a tray containing three beakers of the warming beverage. Reagan regarded the untidy room with interest. Cupboards and drawers overflowed with an array of fascinating objects. His gaze snagged on several hanging artefacts bristling with feathers, shells, crystals and wood. He recognised the elements of air, water and earth; candles or oil-burners provided the fire. The largest space by far was devoted to shelf upon shelf of books. He’d never seen so many in one place outside a librarie.

  Malduc followed his gaze. ‘Oh dear. Now you know my biggest sin. Every time a new book is created, I ask for my own copy. But it’s like a second librarie, anyone is welcome to borrow a book at any time. Always supposing they can find it of course.’ He chuckled as he glanced round at the untidy piles, then shook his head. ‘I need someone to sort them into some kind of order for me. And before you offer, for I know you were going to, I’m afraid we have a far more important task in mind for you. Something the whole village would benefit from.’

  Reluctantly, Reagan drew his attention away from the books. The idea of putting them in order appealed strongly to his mathematical brain. Something important to the whole village? That would certainly make his mother proud. He focussed as Malduc continued. ‘You’re probably wondering why I asked you and your father here today. You may have heard of the disappearance of one of our valued craftsmen, Selwyn, at Beltane last year. He was the second person to disappear without a trace. I’m sure you remember the devastation of the crops in three fields north of Windmill Hill. At Samhain, the well at Highway became poisoned by the bodies of five dead rats. We determined no explanation for any of these events, but the council is concerned it might be part of a dreadful scheme.’