Slater (Hengist: People of the Horse Book 4) Read online

  What people say about Archer:

  “Archer is a boy after my own heart. A little shy, wickedly clever (when words are necessary), and loyal to the bone. I think the best part of this book is how human and endearing all the characters are.”JD

  “Archer is fascinating and captivating! I love the way the characters, scenes and general description of Archer's world are portrayed so eloquently. Jacky Gray not only tells a wonderful tale; she manages to capture the sounds, smells and emotional energies of his world.” SD

  “Anyone who promotes Archery in any form is to be congratulated in my book and I think somewhere along the way Jacky must have got caught up in the sport judging by the passion of her writing.” JA

  “My mum was planning to read the book before I did but I insisted on reading it first so she has to wait. So far, your book has been one of the best I've read in years. I'm looking forward to your next book.”AR

  What people say about Rory:

  “I read the first book in this series in a day and a half, and I read this one even quicker. In this installment, Archer is sent to modern day England and has the same kind of problems with bullies that he had at home. I love the way he handles himself in some pretty horrible situations and the way he finds justice for those involved.” AD

  “Rory is an absorbing tale that mixes medieval with modern. As she did with the first novel in the series, Ms. Gray delivers a well-written, fast-paced work. It is targeted at teen-agers but enjoyable for all ages.” VR

  What people say about Reagan:

  “I have thoroughly enjoyed all of the Hengist series, but there is something about this one in particular that really speaks to me. I can't put a finger on it, but it has to do with the way the author spins this one out, with the mixing of the mystery and the mystical.” HS

  “I'm not a math nerd, but thoroughly enjoyed looking for patterns along with Reagan. I picked up this book because I have an unnatural obsession with the chalk horses of England and was not disappointed! This is a well-researched slice ofboth topics (math, I mean...)!”LR

  Hengist: The People of the Horse

  Slater

  Jacky Gray

  To Norman – for being with me on every step of this magical journey, and improving my grammar and syntax

  To Lynne – for keeping my spirits up when things looked black and just enjoying the stories

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events other than those clearly in the public domain are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 Jacky Gray

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Cover design Copyright © 2014Rebecca Sterling

  http://www.sterlingdesignstudios.com/

  White Horse designCopyright© 2010 Anthony Askew

  www.ant-askew.co.uk/

  First published in 2014

  www.hengistarcher.co.uk

  hengistpeoplehorse.blogspot.co.uk/

  www.facebook.com/HengistPeopleOfTheHorse

  Contents

  1 – The Altar Stone

  2 – Tauroch, the Cruel Shaman

  3 – Aurala, the Sun-bride

  4 – Solah’s Shaman

  5 – The Water Spiral

  6 – The First Temple

  7 – Captive

  8 – Maxoli, the Giant

  9 – Roldan, the Warrior Prince

  10 – Trapped

  11 – Escape

  12 – Moving the Stone

  13 – Raising the Dead

  14 – Midsummer Celebration

  15 – Just a Silly Dream

  16 – Mondilla, the High Priestess

  17 – The Serpent Temple

  18 – Betrayal

  19 – Sacrifice

  20 – Renewing Mother Earth

  21 – Spurning Jilthaya

  22 – Stonehenge, Seasonal Calendar

  23 – Lunella, the Daughter of the Moon

  24 – Talnach, the Evil Shaman

  25 – Roldan, the Warrior King

  26 – Albion’s Message

  27 – Two Tribes

  28 – The Trials

  29 – The Power of Thought

  30 – The Final Design

  31 – Spreading the Word

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Acknowledgements

  WorldWiseWriters

  1 – The Altar Stone

  ‘Come on Slater, stop dawdling, the others are way ahead.’ Carver darted round the large, slow-moving family in front of them, trying to spot their friends in the huge throng of people ambling toward the entrance. ‘I can’t even see them. We’ll have to run to catch up.’

  ‘Sorry mate, my insides are complaining. I can’t walk fast after eating like that; I should have had a rest.’

  The rest of the gang were probably up to all sorts of mischief with such a fine audience for their antics. After a final glance of longing in their general direction, Carver focused on his best friend’s discomfort. ‘Maybe we should sit for a while until you feel better. You could rest on that log.’ As he pointed, a rather large lady settled her ample backside down on the log, fanning her flushed face, as a slender man fussed around her.

  ‘I’ll be fine as long as I can go at my own pace.’ Slater winced as though in pain. ‘There’s no need for you to miss the fun. Why don’t you go and join the others?’

  Carver was obviously itching to do just that, but his sense of duty was strong. ‘No it’s all right; I promised your mother I’d keep an eye out for you.’

  ‘You did what? You went behind my back and made promises to ...’

  ‘No, it wasn’t like that.’ His friend was quick to justify the statement causing Slater’s irritation. ‘She cares about you, that’s all. And she worries because you’re such a dreamer.’

  ‘Not practical like my brother, you mean.’

  ‘She didn’t mention Sawyer. She’s concerned because it’s the first time you’ve been on an outing like this ...’

  ‘We come to Stonehenge at least twice a year.’ Slater’s tone was dry.

  ‘On your own.’

  ‘So you and the others are figments of my imagination?’

  ‘You know what I mean. The first time without her and Mason.’

  Slater drew a deep, calming breath, realising whatever the reason for his irrational anger, it was not his friend’s fault. ‘Sorry mate, I didn’t mean to get angry with you. I know you were just trying to be respectful. She can be pretty persuasive.’

  ‘You can say that again. She ...’ Carver stopped. It was obvious anything he said next would not improve matters. ‘Look, there’s bound to be another log; they put them every few paces for people who get tired.’

  ‘I’m sure there is, but I really don’t need you looking out for me. If you are a true friend, you’ll realise my poor, dented ego needs to lick its wounds, which is best done in private.’ At Carver’s blank look, he simplified it. ‘I need to be on my own to do some thinking.’

  ‘Oh right, I could just ...’

  ‘The only thing you can do to help is run ahead, catch the others, and save me a place to bed down.’

  ‘Are you s...’

  ‘If you’re going to ask if I’m sure, I will thump you.’

  With a grin matching his friend’s, Carver skipped out of reach. ‘Make sure you find us later, we’ll be somewhere on the sunrise line, as close to the circle as we can get.’

  ‘All right, but don’t
worry if I don’t get to you until after the sunrise. If I can’t find you in the dark I’ll probably have a nap somewhere.’

  Carver raced off, curving round another large family and disappearing out of sight. Slater’s anger evaporated as quickly as it had come. It wasn’t real, just an act to persuade his friend to leave him alone, like the story of his supposed agony. He’d felt a tiny twinge from his guts when they started moving so quickly after eating, but nothing like the pain he suggested. The slight pang of remorse at the deception was quickly smothered as he acknowledged Carver would be better off messing around with their gang, rather than what Slater had in mind. His friend and mentor, Reagan, had warned him of the difficulty of the task and it would be a lot easier to handle on his own.

  Slater was distracted by a little girl in front sitting down and refusing to budge unless someone carried her. Several women gave sympathetic glances as the father picked her up and swung her onto his shoulders. A boy behind complained she was blocking his view.

  So far, Slater could see nothing except fields, trees and many of the small mounds where they’d buried people. Even before the thought was complete, the avenue they were following reached the brow of the hill. Gazing down the path as it curved to the left, Slater caught sight of the famous temple. He could hear the gasps and sighs of people around him as they witnessed the clever effect.

  Like him, they were impressed by the drama as the shape on the horizon began to resolve into the different layers of stones. He halted; overwhelmed by an intense awe, an emotion so strong he felt it simultaneously in every single cell of his body. It was like a collection of all the feelings of the millions of people who had walked along the avenue, starting with their ancestors thousands of years earlier. The energy jolted through his body, rendering him immobile. A couple of deep breaths later, his body recovered as he tuned into the heated discussion of two men in front. One of them was being unkind about the Aveburgh henge and it triggered a memory of his brother and father arguing the merits of the two temples.

  His brother, Sawyer, had been quite dismissive about Stonehenge. ‘I don’t know what all the fuss is about, it’s no more impressive than our temple. It’s not as big, and all the circles sit around each other so it’s hard to work out which ones are for the sun and which ones are for the moon.’

  ‘But the gateway stones are higher than four men.’ Despite his loyalty to the Aveburgh henge, Mason was honour-bound to defend the prestigious monument. ‘Most of ours are only the height of two men. Two not-very-tall men.’

  ‘I agree. There are some big stones, but they look a lot larger because the ring is so small. There’s barely enough room for a couple of villages to celebrate a Sabbat – we can fit many more in either of our temples.’

  ‘People come from all over just to touch the stones because of the healing properties.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe the Magi can sense things like that, but we’re mere Outils, so we can’t feel anything.’ Sawyer was determined not to praise the rival henge.

  ‘But we can appreciate the precision and effort that went into building it. Apparently it took hundreds of men hundreds of years.’ Their father was the master stonemason in charge of the maintenance of Aveburgh henge, but he was prepared to marvel at the magnificence of both.

  Slater chuckled at the memory as he resumed his journey. Relishing the freedom, he wriggled his shoulders and stretched his arms as he shrugged off imaginary bindings. He gave thanks for the solitude; now he could finally appreciate the temple on his own terms.

  More than anything, he was glad to avoid the childish behaviour. It wasn’t just his Outil friends; many of the warrior boys were preoccupied with playing silly tricks on each other. This usually ended up with them chasing around or mock-fighting or both. Except their idea of mock-fighting was no fun at all to Slater, who was of average height but slightly built. Sawyer always called him the runt of the litter and teased that he should have been a girl. Slater’s red hair marked him as a natural target for teasing.

  As he walked along the wide path, the sun warmed his right side as it sank toward the distant horizon. Slater pulled out Reagan’s list to check the timing. Judging how long until sunset, he calculated he would be inside the temple in time to see the effect his friend said he mustn’t miss. Pausing for a moment at the heal stones, he studied their irregular shapes. The natural, rough surface had a reassuring familiarity, like many of the stones in the Aveburgh circles. Unlike most of the big sarsens within Stonehenge, they had not been dressed into smooth, precise shapes.

  Moving slowly past the heal stones, Slater had hoped to touch one of them, but most people had the same idea so he couldn’t get near. Continuing on, he felt a slight pull from the earth as he followed the perfectly straight line marked by two small stones, not much taller than himself. The power of the spirit line varied from weak to strong as he approached the huge sarsens in the outer circle. Looking through the opening between the doorway stones, he could see they aligned perfectly with gaps in three other sets of stone circles, both sarsens and the smaller bluestones. Through this alignment, he saw the pink of the sky where the sun would set on the eve of Yule, the winter solstice, directly opposite the place where the sun would rise on Midsummer morning.

  It was, as Mason said, a remarkable feat of precision engineering, much more spectacular than the simple sundial effect of Aveburgh’s sun temple. They must have had someone as talented as Reagan following the energy lines. Slater grinned as he remembered the satisfaction of feeling the water line for the first time. Reagan was even more jubilant after the frustration of trying to teach something which came so naturally he didn’t have to think about it.

  ‘There. It feels blue.’ Slater was hesitant. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘If that’s how you can feel it.’ Reagan’s smile was full of encouragement. ‘You are on the line.’

  ‘But is it right? Is that how you see it?’

  ‘I don’t see it as blue, but there are many ways of sensing them. I know what you mean, it is a vibration and colours all have different vibrations like sounds. See if you can follow it for a few paces.’

  That was so much easier said than done. Without a hazel or willow twig to guide him, it was hard for Slater to divine the path. Reagan saw his apprentice struggling and asked him to name the types of energy lines.

  ‘Water, magnetic fields and ancient spirit.’

  ‘Good. What are the visual clues?’

  ‘Nearby rivers or streams or alignments.’ Further questions helped Slater remember they usually ran between important features such as hills, springs or salt deposits.

  Lining up on a distant hill, Slater took a small step forward and was pleased when he felt the same sensation. After three steps in the same direction, he lost it. Seeing nothing to the left, he took two steps to the right and there it was. Eventually, he worked out the line curved right before returning on a straight track toward the hill.

  ‘Well done; I think you’ve got that one. What type of line do you think it is?’

  Slater interrogated his senses. ‘Is it water?’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because it curves and water is blue.’

  ‘You are right; it is water. There’s an underground stream which meets up with the Kennet. The molehills are a big clue.’

  After a few more sessions, they determined he sensed magnetic fields as silvery grey and spirit lines as white or black, depending on their function.

  Now that skill was paying off as Slater tuned into the earth energy. The solstice line was white, which made sense – it was a temple for healing and worship. Approaching the two doorway stones, the line’s glow became stronger until it dazzled as he walked through them. It was impossible for him to continue much further as people were already claiming spots on the ground which aligned with the spirit line. Some groups were settling down for a few hours’ sleep and others were praying or having private rituals. Walking around sprawling gangs, he reached the outer ci
rcle of sarsen stones and spotted his companions, many of whom were drinking beakers of ale.

  They did not spot him and he ducked outside the sarsen circle until he could see the altar stone. The rays of the sun came through the gaps in the stones of the outer and inner circles and the altar stone was perfectly aligned to catch them. Dodging past more people, Slater reached it in time to see the last few moments of the magical effect. Tiny flecks of shiny crystals were scattered throughout the stone. These reflected the rays in a kaleidoscope of colours which shimmered above the stone in a spectacular, secret dance.

  No one else seemed to be aware of it; they were too busy marvelling at the grandeur of the giant gateways or settling in to wait out the night. At seven and a half hours, it was the shortest night of the year, and the ceremony to welcome the sun at the strongest point of its power would start half an hour before its rise.

  As the rays retreated, turning the altar stone back into a normal bluestone, Slater felt the pull of a strong energy line. Tuning into it as Reagan had shown him, he closed his eyes and allowed his body to sense the flow. There were two blue lines, one under each foot. As he followed them, he realised they were forming parallel curves from one end of the stone to the other. After a little more investigation, he detected several similar circular lines on the other side of the altar stone, but these had much wider paths. Unfortunately a group of strangers settled down in his way so he couldn’t explore any further. Closing his eyes, he visualised several circles around the altar stone and he was sure they were something to do with its healing properties. He couldn’t wait to discuss it with his friend and hoped he’d get a chance to dowse it properly later.

  Consulting Reagan’s list of cryptic clues, next to “altar stone” he wrote “dancing rainbow lights” and “water circles.” The next thing was moonstones and he followed the clues to align himself on the central axis. With the mass of bodies, it was tricky to position himself so he could see three of the moonstones through the gaps in the stones. Looking down, he saw no grass grew where he stood. As he twisted and bent, trying to find a gap through which he could see the last moonstone, a band of tall strangers surrounded him. They were wearing dark robes with hoods covering their faces.