Ritual Reality
20 Sacred Trust
Saturday, 21 June 1969: Summer Solstice—Litha
It had been a fitful night sleeping in the middle of an island with no blankets and only his tiny fire for warmth. He’d been visited by ghosts all night long, but one hovered nearby, never leaving. He knew her from the dreams. She’d been the High Priestess at that night exactly a hundred fifty years ago.
“Are you here to torment me?” he whispered.
“No, my Vagabond. I am here to protect you.”
“But you are one of them.”
“We are all one of them, including you.”
“It’s wrong—not natural—confusing.”
“There is nothing more natural, my Vagabond. I will protect you. I will not let ill befall you. You have seen what happened the last time the tools were called together. You know not to let it happen again.”
“I am sworn to protect the brothers and sisters of the Art.”
“And to protect The Huntress.” Mari’s form was nearly hidden in the shadows nearby.
“Mari?”
“I am here. Sleep now. I will watch.” In spite of himself, Wayne fell into a fitful sleep.
In the morning light, she was gone.
When he awoke, he realized that he’d need to get back across the narrow channel to the mainland. That meant that he’d be wet through again and no fire to dry beside. The sun rose early. In the distance, Wayne could hear traffic in the town. Who would be up at this hour on Saturday?
He made his way to the shore where he had crossed the night before. To his surprise, a small boat was tied to a branch. At least Wayne assumed it was a boat. It looked almost like a wicker basket with a paddle on the seat. He wondered if it was safe to cross the hundred or two hundred feet of water. Well, if he fell in, he wouldn’t get any wetter than if he swam. He needed to get to shore.
The tiny boat was difficult to control until Wayne got the hang of it. By that time, he’d already struggled most of the way across the channel. It seemed that each time he dipped his paddle in the water, the coracle—yes, that was the name—wanted to spin in a circle. Ultimately, he managed to get across the water and only got a little wet when he splashed to shore, pulling the boat the last few feet. He anchored it and headed toward town, looking up at the cliff called the Lady’s Rake. In his mind’s eye, he could still see her naked form near the top of the cliff. He shook the feeling off and headed toward the village.
As he turned onto the main street near his hotel, he could see what the noise and commotion were about. It was market day. He was pretty sure his peers would still be asleep and missing this excitement. There were so many people there. It was more than he imagined possible in a modern, even if small, village. Colorful stalls decorated the entirety of Main Street on both sides of Moot Hall. The single hand on the clock above the old building was nearing seven when Wayne began eating his way from booth to booth. Fresh baked goods, fruits, berries, and dairy products were represented as well as dried and fresh meats and cheeses.
There were crafts as well and Wayne found a jewelry maker with a variety of charms on leather thongs. As Wayne perused the wares, a lorry rumbled into town and set its brakes on the hill above the hall. The driver opened the back of the truck and began dealing in chickens off the bumper. An overall aura of excitement dominated the marketplace.
“May I interest you in a love charm?” the woman in the jewelry booth asked him. She was an older woman—well, not ancient, but older like his mother—and had a pleasant voice.
“Um… I don’t think I need one of those,” Wayne answered. “That one over there. What is it?” He pointed at a gray metal disk hung on a leather thong. The disk was decorated with a six-pointed star and writing around the edge.
The woman looked at him strangely. Wayne wasn’t sure why, but there was really no other item in her display that interested him in the slightest.
“Is that not the staff of The Vagabond Poet?” she asked softly.
“The Hart is in the Circle,” Wayne responded automatically, not even realizing he’d spoken aloud.
“This is an earth pentacle,” the woman said, handing him the disk.
“What metal is this? Pewter?”
“Ah, no. This is a rare alloy of seven metals, forged under specific conditions and at the conjunction of specific planets. It is called electrum magicum.”
“These symbols are not like others I have seen. They aren’t Theban runes.”
“Very good. They are Hebrew. This is a pentacle of Solomon. These are the Hebrew names of the elementals. You read from the top counter-clockwise. Adonai ha-Aretz is the Lord of Earth. Auriel is the archangel whose name means Light of God. Phorlakh is the name of the earth elemental angel, Phrat is one of four mythical rivers of Eden, the Euphrates which ran north of the garden. Tzaphon means simply North and Aretz means Earth.”
“What’s with the iron cross between the names?”
“That is a Rose Cross method of sigilisation. The symbol next to it represents the name.”
“It doesn’t look like it was planned well. There’s room for another.”
“That is where you would put your own motto and sigil.”
“Would it have to be in Hebrew?”
“No. English would suffice.” Wayne could see the shape in his mind’s eye. He just had to have this.
“How much?”
“Thruppence.”
“Huh? Did you say three pennies? This must be worth…”
“…far more than any of us could pay,” she finished. Wayne fished the coins out of his pocket and the woman handed him the pentacles.
Wayne was so fascinated looking at the piece of jewelry that he hardly noticed the woman folding up her table and tent. He moved slowly uphill. A donkey squealed and he heard chickens cackling. What a day!
Someone up the hill ahead of him screamed. Angry shouts followed. They rolled into a panicked fervor at the Moot Hall and crested beyond the next street. He looked up to see a lorry bouncing down the street backward. Somehow, he knew there was no driver and he turned to run. The jewelry woman was just behind him. They stood in the path of the runaway vehicle.
He caught her frozen look of panic and in the moment that he locked with her eyes, he ran the risk of spacing out again. He’d been so caught up in the pentacles that he’d never looked into her eyes. It was like seeing Judith in front of him.
He felt his body react without his own volition. He caught her arm and dove to the side of the narrow street. Clean. It would have been such a perfect rescue had not the truck bounced on the uneven pavement and dived right after them.
Economy of movement, Rebecca had said. Don’t dive and roll if simply turning your head will do as well; but here he lay, half under the old woman whose legs were still under the truck which lodged against the building. Around them he could barely see a glowing bubble. He looked at her legs as the truck hovered a fraction over them. His staff, extended toward the truck, seemed to hold it motionless. Pulling her toward him, away from the threat, he let the truck drop and bounce on its springs after her legs were free.
She had hit her head in the fall and was only now regaining consciousness. He cradled her in his arms, careful lest he hurt her. The woman’s eyes turned to him again. It was so like looking at Judith. The crowds that were closing in the wake of the runaway seemed to recede out of his line of sight. He shivered convulsively and wondered vaguely if he was going into shock.
“Listen to me Vagabond,” she said as they locked eyes. He heard the eerie wailing of an English siren. Why is it taking so long for someone to come and help? “Tell the Huntress that she must call the circle herself. No one else. Give her this.” The woman fumbled with a cord that hung around her neck. “Here. Quickly. Take it.” Wayne had the cord in hand and pulled a small leather pouch with it out of the woman’s blouse. It lay in his hand and she squeezed her hand over it. “That which you have purchased is powerful. This, many times more so. Give it to her. Tell her.”
So fast. It was all too fast to have been real. A policeman was crowding behind the lorry where it had wedged them against the building. Above him a woman screamed.
“Mother!” Wayne looked up to see Judith’s head poking from the hotel window above him. “Wayne, don’t move. Just stay there. I’ll help you. You’ve saved my mother.”
He thought a moment and as the lorry began to shift away from them, Wayne willed himself to disappear.
Then it was all over as quickly as it had begun. The lorry was pulled away from the scene to allow the medics access. Wayne felt a distance closing in around him so that he was far away from the scene. The woman was quickly gone, Judith riding in the ambulance beside her. The crowd was busy at the market again. He stood against the wall of the building with his staff in one hand and the leather pouch in the other. Aside from Judith’s initial outburst, no one had spoken a word to him or had even appeared to notice him beside the woman. It was as if he were invisible.
He ran.
“Where is he?” Judith gasped as she crashed through Rebecca’s hotel room door.
“I… what?” Rebecca sputtered. She laid her book down on the bed.
“Oh! Rebecca! He saved my mother’s life and now I can’t find him. He’s in danger.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Wayne.” Judith paused. Tears were flooding her eyes again. She’d been near hysteria as she rode in the ambulance with her mother. Having the doctors pronounce her condition as not being critical had left her gasping for breath. It gave her an opportunity to wonder what had happened to Wayne. She’d not been thirty seconds getting from the window to the door of her hotel. But as they moved the lorry off her mother, there’d been no sign of Wayne—no indication he had ever been there. She needed to pull herself together.
“Huntress,” she began formally and bowed slightly to Rebecca. Rebecca acknowledged the formal salute.
“Swordmaster. Merry meet, sister.”
“We are all in danger. Do you have your pentacles?”
“Of course,” Rebecca answered the strange question.
“This morning an attempt was made on the High Priestess’ life. I’m sure of it. The Unbound saved her.”
“Magda? Is she…?”
“She is recovering in Kendall at the hospital. I only just got back. But, Huntress, she was saved by The Unbound. I don’t know how. I could feel his presence but I couldn’t find him before the ambulance was ready to leave. Has he been here?”
“No. As much as I can tell, he didn’t come back last night. I’ve been sitting here waiting and listening all morning. Hoping.”
“We have to find him.”
“I think if we stay still, he may come to us. He wouldn’t miss call for the show.”
“There is something I haven’t told you, Huntress.”
“Why does that not surprise me,” Rebecca sighed. “We are on the same side, Swordmaster. If you know something that will help, please tell me now.”
“It’s about the pentacles. The High Priestess didn’t have hers.”
“Enceladus?”
“Exactly. She hasn’t been without it since I was born. I nursed looking at it. If the High Priest got to her or managed to get it away from her, he could be very dangerous. Our hope has been that he had no access to any of the tools.”
“We need to find The Unbound,” Rebecca repeated Judith’s words. “Unprotected, he could be in extreme danger.”
He had run from her. Again. Well, he just couldn’t face her. She was… something he couldn’t fathom. Maybe he was, too. He just didn’t know. But he knew he had to hide.
“Now ye look like a fine respectable young lad,” said the barber as he flicked the apron sending hair in little flurries around the floor. “That will be a pound six.” Wayne looked at himself in the mirror as he handed the barber the money. He’d not been clean shaven in three years—since high school graduation. With the short haircut and little wisp of a mustache, he looked positively ready for the army. Jim would have a kitten. He’d have to take care of that next. “I’m always happy to usher a young man into adulthood with a real shave and a good haircut. Now ye can go conquer the world,” the barber finished.
Wayne fastened a pair of small wire-rimmed glasses over his ears. He wore a pair of black corduroys and a black turtleneck shirt now. He pulled on the gray-plaid cape and wide-brimmed hat. The cape covered his walking stick completely as he tucked his hands inside. The person who stepped onto the street was not recognizable as the person who had nearly been run over by a truck this morning—least of all, he thought, to Rebecca, Judith, or that damned doctor he saw up the hill earlier. They had never seen him beardless or with glasses. His change of clothes was in a canvas pouch slung from one shoulder.
He made his way by side streets and alleyways across town to the field where the show tent was. This village was so innocent in some ways. A tent like this in Indianapolis would have to be guarded twenty-four hours a day. He slipped in through the tie-down backstage.
This tent in the middle of a field was the best facility they worked in during their entire run. In a few weeks, it would be used for some kind of religious tent meeting. The village was very proud of it. All the electricals were rented. There were adequate lights for both the stage and the house and a portable dimmer pack that was easy to connect and use. The darkness surrounding him was evidence of the good light control afforded by the canvas tent itself.
The stage platform was solid and well-draped. Even though it had no front curtain, the lighting control was so good they could go to complete blackout between acts. The backstage had been furnished and partitioned for dressing rooms in attached tents. It was a shame to deprive the cast of its last performance there, but Wayne couldn’t show up for the show tonight. Everywhere he looked there were ghosts and witches. If he met one during the performance it would ruin everything and they’d cart him away to a funny farm.
He felt his way carefully across the backstage area to where the enormous props crate was located. He fumbled for a moment with the padlock but finally got his key into it and felt it snap open. He raised the lid. His art kit would be on the left end of the box. Carefully he lifted it out, opened it and pulled out his penlight. With the aid of the light he selected a screwdriver from his tools and made his way to the dimmer box.
The rental system was fully equipped. Wayne opened the back panel and found the three spare fuses lying taped to the bottom of the box. He pocketed the fifty amp replacement for the main line. Then he pulled the master fuse and replaced it with a fifteen amp fuse. These fuses for the 220 volt system were enormous. He pocketed the remaining spares and carefully reassembled the dimmer panel. The lights would still come on. If only one dimmer were brought up, they would keep working. But Beth would run a light check at 7:15 p.m. With the backstage lights on, the first dimmer would blow the master fuse. There were no replacements and by that time it would be too late to get any before curtain. The show would be canceled.
He repacked the tools and returned them to the crate, keeping the penlight and his hand graver. He searched through the crate and pulled out the long bow after which he had patterned his prop. With a bit of prying, he managed to dislodge three arrows. One more thing. The knife Rebecca and Judith seemed to want so badly. He would just remove it from temptation.
It did not take long to realize the prop was not there. They could not even wait for the production to end. He felt betrayed. They were using him. They all wanted to use him. Or not him, just the tools he could make. The scenes flashed before his eyes one after another—more than a dream, but less than reality.
If they already had the knife, there was nothing he could do about it. His own knife, though, was in the bottom of his suitcase where it had been since he arrived in England. He would have to get it. Besides, the rest of his travelers’ checks and his passport were in the suitcase. He snapped the lock closed on the box, turned to leave and ran straight into a strong and stocky man. Wayne fell back a step, but the other man did not move.
“I belong here,” Wayne said. “I’m part of the cast.”
“Really? Going hunting?”
“Just a little target practice,” Wayne answered, thinking fast. “I begged a couple bales of straw from a farmer at market this morning.”
“I see.” Very slowly, as if he were trying not to alarm a frightened animal, the man reached out and pulled Wayne’s cape aside to reveal the walking stick. Wayne pulled back a step and shone his penlight directly in the man’s face, but he seemed not to notice. His eyes shined through the beam. He knew that face. The devil-eyes just kept staring at him through the light’s beam. It made Wayne’s flesh crawl.
“So, you’re the Hart’s vagabond,” the man said thoughtfully. “Very clever disguise.”
“I’m no one’s anything. But I know you. You are that doctor. You’re also the one who kept breaking into the theatre. What are you people?”
“Come now, you know the answer to that. We’re part of the legends and folklore of the hills you see around the Derwentwater. Part of your own kindred, I’d guess, though you’re no Vagabond Poet. Still, not a bad ally to have.” The man gestured minutely and Wayne felt a heightened crawling in his flesh as he saw a dim light increase around him. He thought at first his eyes had adjusted to the dark and pocketed his flashlight. Realizing he no longer needed it heightened the eerie sensations. There was a curious burning sensation on his chest. He dug at it automatically and realized that the heat emanated from the leather pouch he had slung around his own neck after the accident this morning.
“Ah yes. There it is. Be a good lad now and hand it here to me. You have no use for it. You don’t even want it. The old lady had no business giving it to you. Hand it here.” It was as if Wayne no longer controlled his own body. He was still trying to fight the shifts in time and space and stay focused on the evil man in front of him. Evil. That was how Wayne defined him. And thus defined, Wayne could defy him. His hand was already pulling the leather thong over his head, the pouch in his hand. The struggle was becoming impossible.
“What’s happening to me?”
“I’m just helping you do what you want to do. You want to give it to me. Now hand it here.”
Wayne looked down at the leather pouch. More powerful than that which you bought, he remembered her saying. It was wrong to give power to the demon-man. His perspective shifted again and he was in split places.
He saw the dark disk lying on the ground in front of Mari; saw it flying into the wall of light; saw the wall crashing down.
Wayne dropped the pouch to the end of its thong and started whirling it in front of him, then over his head. For the first time, the other man showed a sign of doubt.
“Easy now. You could be playing with a fist full of diamonds, you know. Something very precious.”
Wayne saw the diamonds scattering on the floor of the tent. They were the shattering bits of light as he charged through the illuminated wall, spinning the pouch ahead of him like a lariat. He heard the yelp of pain behind him and turned to see the man fall to his knees with both hands grasping his head in the splintering light. Then it was all dark again and Wayne was fighting with the tie-down to get out of the tent. The man’s voice followed him as he ducked out.
“I don’t need it, you bastard apprentice. I can call the circle without it and you will be nothing to them.”
Wayne was out of the tent and running.
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