Ritual Reality
21 Summons
Saturday, 21 June 1969
No one had been to the island. The little coracle was still tied up where Wayne had left it and in a few minutes, he had pulled it into the shelter of a downed tree and made his way to the center of the island.
This, he was certain, was where the manor house had stood once 300 years ago. There were no derelict walls or foundations that he could find other than this one flat slab of stone. It would make a good workbench. When he’d settled in the middle of the stone, he whispered, “Protection,” and with a wave of his hand he felt a sudden peace and quiet surround him.
He wasn’t startled to see the young woman sitting in his circle with him. The ghosts had been following him all over. He’d started just ignoring them, watching them jump out of his way when he started to walk through them. He even recognized some of them from dreams he’d had long ago. This one was quiet and simply sat across from him to watch. He was pretty sure it was the Lady of the Rake he had seen climbing naked up the cliff on the shore—or perhaps it was Mari, the Vagabond’s high priestess. Or someone else he should know. He wondered if they were related. She wore a simple shift and stayed silent. He’d seen her several times since the old woman gave him the strange pouch this morning after the accident. It was like she traveled with it.
But Wayne left the pouch hanging around his neck and instead withdrew the leather thong and medallion he had purchased from the old lady. If he was going to make up with Judith, he needed an appropriate gift. And he did want to make up with her—make out with her—make love to her. If he could just get his head straight. All this mystic mumbo-jumbo was so stupid. They had him half convinced they were witches. How stupid is that? It was more like they were playing at a game. He knew someone else—Jacqueline—at school who was a member of the Society for Creative Anachronism. She was so weird in so many ways, but he had a feeling she had just a bit of a crush on him last year. But that was all the group was. They just liked to dress up and play games. He couldn’t believe his Uncle was part of that stuff, too.
Wayne laid his tools out around him. Not just the ritual tools, but the engraving tools he’d grabbed from the props chest. He’d planned to spend time after the last show polishing and engraving Hamlet’s poniard to give to Rebecca, so he’d brought his hand tools with him. That was before he knew how much of a bone of contention it was with Judith and with that doctor. Well, he could make her one when they were back in Indiana if she still wanted one. But he could still use the tools now to make a gift for Judith. The medallion needed to have a few more symbols and letters inscribed on it.
He laid a soft cloth on the stone and placed the disk on it. Then he removed a small graver. He hadn’t done too much engraving on metal. He’d last used the tools to engrave Judith’s initials on the hilt of her sword, and a verse from Shelley on the blade. The important thing was to not put a graver through his hand.
He pulled out his notebook and traced out the size and shape of the disk so he could position the characters. Then he wrote the word “Swordmaster” and Judith’s name sigil. If she liked to play this game, that was okay with him. He just needed to stay anchored in reality.
He wasn’t helped with that by the ghost sitting in the circle with him. Especially when she reached over and took his pencil and paper. Wayne scooted back a bit. No. She wasn’t—couldn’t be—real. He could see the trees on the other side of the circle right through her. But still she held the pencil and wrote on the pad. She looked at what she’d written, scratched it out and wrote again. This time she nodded and placed the pad and pencil down next to his work. He watched her cautiously and she scooted back away and bowed her head.
Wayne moved up to look at the pad. The symbols she had written were like the characters around the edge of the disk. סווורדמאסטאר. “Hebrew?” he asked. “For ‘Swordmaster’?” The ghost nodded. As he looked at her she seemed to waver. Then she was gone. “Thank you,” he whispered. He bent to his task.
There was no telling how long he’d been sitting there, hunched over the metal disk—electrum magicum—but it had been a long time. His stomach was growling. He looked at the finished work. The Hebrew name followed by a rose cross and Judith’s sigil. On the back, Wayne had engraved his own name sign, copied carefully from his staff.
This would be his peace offering.
But not tonight. That doctor was planning something tonight and Wayne needed his suitcase from his room. And it looked like it was going to rain. How late was it? He’d been in a trance, engraving the small disk all afternoon. He intended to be at the hotel when the rest of the cast went to the tent. He’d better get over there right away.
He gathered his gear and stood to leave when there was a crack of thunder that sounded like a sonic boom. He ran to the edge of the island and looked up in the sky to see the column of light that extended from the top of Skiddaw into the clouds. Wayne pushed off in the coracle and headed for town.
“Any sign of him?” It was seven o’clock and Rebecca met Judith at the show tent for call. The two had scoured the area looking for any clue to Wayne’s whereabouts. They had asked everywhere, describing Wayne and what he was wearing when Judith saw him last. The distinctive walking stick at least should have been recognized. But no one could help. They took turns waiting in his room, but he did not come back.
“Surely, he’ll show up for call, won’t he?” Rebecca asked as Judith shook her head.
“I certainly hope so,” she said. “He’s got the first line.” They joined the rest of the cast in entering the tent when Beth switched on the work lights. Gail unlocked the props box in Wayne’s absence. Judith went sullenly to work organizing the weaponry.
“Dr. Allen!” she called suddenly. Rebecca rushed to the props box where Judith was laying out the various rapiers and weapons. “He’s been here. Hamlet’s poniard and one bow is missing.”
“Light check,” called Beth to Lena in the house. “Dimmer one.” The lights came up and a bang filled the tent with an accompanying shower of sparks. “Damn! Fuck!” Beth shouted from the light board. The entire tent was plunged into darkness. Jim came stumbling in from one of the dressing rooms where he had been helping with make-up.
“What in God’s name…?” he began.
“The damned board just blew,” screamed Beth.
“Are you all right?” Jim, Rebecca, and Judith all reached Beth’s side where she was stomping around in a circle with her hands waving people away.
“I’m fine,” she said angrily. “Probably just a fuse. Flashlight.”
“Can’t find it!” Gail yelled from the direction of the props box.
“Wayne!” Jim yelled.
“He hasn’t signed in yet,” Lena called from somewhere in front of the stage.
“He might still not be feeling well,” Rebecca lied.
“Great. Hoist the tent flaps over there so we can see what’s going on. Can you tell anything, Beth?”
“Yeah. Looks like the fuse in the master circuit by the amount of black charring around it.”
“Can it be fixed?”
“Sure, if you can give me a new fuse. There were supposed to be spares taped to the inside of the panel. Nothing here.”
“Another testimony to Mr. Brown’s great organizational talents,” Jim moaned. Judith leaned close to Rebecca.
“I don’t think Wayne is coming in for call.”
“You think this was meant…?”
“…to cancel the show,” Judith finished for Rebecca. Outside there was a crack of thunder. The clouds had been building all afternoon. It appeared rain was imminent.
“Judith,” Jim approached the two women. “Can we get replacements for this before showtime?”
Judith contemplated for a moment then decided to back Wayne’s ploy. If he was not going to show up, she and Rebecca had better step up the search. “There’d be no place I know of closer than Kendall to get them and nothing there would be open on a Saturday night. A local electrician might happen to have one, but they’re notoriously slow even if we found one.”
“Bloody electrics!” snapped Jim in his best English. “With this storm brewing we can’t even move outside. I think we just lost our last show.”
“I don’t see that we have much choice, Jim,” Rebecca reinforced. “Maybe if you can get hold of that tour organizer, Brown, we can get a repair and do one last show tomorrow night. Even a matinee.”
“Well, maybe so,” he said. “If I ever get my hands on that bastard…” He left the threat hanging. “Cast, clean-up,” he yelled. “Performance is cancelled. Check at the Walpole by noon tomorrow for posting of the alternative scheduling. Enjoy a night on the town tonight.”
When they finally got outside the tent, Lena was posting a sign at the main entrance. Rebecca and Judith looked around at the gathering storm clouds.
“Looks like it would have been a lousy night for a gathering anyway,” Judith said. Images flashed in Rebecca’s mind of the circle dancing naked around the sputtering remains of a fire in a drenching downpour. She had to laugh a little.
“Miserable. Some Litha.”
As if to punctuate her words and the thoughts that had occupied both women for the day, there was a powerful crack of thunder that brought all their heads up. As they looked at the northern sky, they saw a brilliant blue flame burst at the top of Skiddaw, some four miles away. It must have been a hundred feet tall to be visible at this range, connecting the mountain peak with the descending clouds above it. But both Rebecca and Judith knew that it would be seen much farther away than where they were. In an instant, the flame was gone. It would only show one time.
Witch’s fire.
“It appears the circle has been called whether we would or not,” Rebecca said to Judith as they walked on toward town.
“By whom, though?” Judith asked. “I hope Wayne hasn’t run into real trouble.”
The two women looked at each other and Judith’s words sank in. Someone else could easily have followed Wayne this morning, or even led him away. No wonder they had been unable to find him.
“We’d better get ready and go. Be careful, Huntress.”
“And you, Swordmaster. Merry meet and merry part and merry meet again, sister.” The two women embraced and then trudged back to their respective hotels.
Damn it! He was too late. He saw Chuck and Carol walk in the front door of the Walpole. Wayne ducked out of sight and moved to the back of the hotel. If Chuck and Carol were sneaking back to fool around, the rest of the cast would be back shortly and he didn’t want to be caught inside—not now. He could see his window from where he stood in the shelter of a small tree. Glenn’s room was one to the left. There was only one thing to do.
He wrote a note on his pad and tied it to an arrow. His clean handkerchief was wrapped and tied around the blunt end. Then he waited. Everyone left their windows open. That was good. Now if only he was as good.
It took half an hour before he saw a light come on in Glenn’s room. Wayne stilled himself and drew the bow. He needed to be sure Glenn wasn’t coming straight to the window. From Wayne’s angle, the arrow would go up through the open window and hit the ceiling—so long as no one was looking out.
He steadied himself against the tree. All the discipline he had learned in years past came to play. It was twilight under the heavily overcast sky and in a moment of concentration, everything around him went black except the one shining lighted window. He inhaled deeply and held it. Shoot between the heartbeats. He released his breath half-way and then loosed the arrow. It sailed through the window and clattered off the ceiling. Wayne didn’t stop to see what would happen next. He took off at a dead run through the alley and back out to the Lady’s Rake.
Rebecca finished pushing the ceremonial robe into her bag. She placed the two cups in the bag as well. It would be tricky having to carry two staves tonight, but she would manage. She turned on the light to face herself in the mirror. “This is it,” she whispered.
She hit the floor, pulling her knife as an arrow came sailing through her window, struck the ceiling and the sitting chair and bounced, clattering noisily to the floor. She was frozen, fearing another arrow would follow, but from where she stood she could see that the tip of the arrow was padded and wrapped in a handkerchief. A note was tied to the shaft.
She moved quickly to retrieve the message and had not stopped shaking by the time she held the note in her hand.
“Glenn,” the note read. “I need my suitcase. Can’t come to the hotel: it’s watched. Don’t tell anyone. I’ll explain when I see you. Just shove all my stuff in the suitcase and bring it to the foot of Walla Crag. See you in half an hour. Wayne.”
“You’re a hell of a shot,” she whispered to herself. “I just hope you don’t realize you got the wrong window.” She flicked out her light and stepped around the door to Wayne’s room. If he wanted his suitcase, she would bet he had no intention of coming back. She scooped up his things from the dresser and laid them in his bag. If she showed good faith by taking all his things with her, perhaps he’d wait long enough to let her explain. She latched the bag, tossed her satchel over her shoulder, and left the hotel through the kitchen so as not to attract the attention of the cast partying in the bar.
Wayne had timed it well. The meeting spot was over a mile south of Keswick by footpath, first along the Derwentwater, then through a wood lot. It was a half hour before Rebecca entered the grove. She looked around her and up the cliff that was called Wall Crag. Now, as long as Wayne was close before he recognized her…
“Who’s there?” Rebecca strained her eyes in the direction of the voice but could see nothing but the trees. If she answered truthfully, he would be gone and she wouldn’t even see him. How would Glenn answer? She pitched her voice as low as possible and responded with the next line from the play.
“Long live the king.”
“Bernardo?”
“He.”
Wayne stepped into the path directly in front of Rebecca and took a step forward before he recognized her. He froze for a second and spun on his heel.
“Wayne, don’t go. Please! I have your suitcase. No one else is around.” He turned back to face her. In a way, he wanted to talk to her. He wanted her to tell him it wasn’t true; that there were no witches waiting to make a sacrifice of him in the hills; or at least that she was not one of them. He wanted her to help him get rid of the ghosts that were milling about.
“How did you find out?”
“You’re a good shot but you got the wrong window.”
“Shit.”
“It’s okay, though,” she said. “I did exactly what you asked.” She held out the suitcase and Wayne came a step closer. She could see his face in the dim light. It couldn’t be! “Wesley?” Rebecca sank to her knees as darkness surrounded her.
She wasn’t out for more than a few seconds when she was roused by a light patting of her cheek. She looked up into the eyes of the frightened young man. He looked so much like Wesley at first.
“Wayne? My God! What did you do to yourself?” She reached out a hand to touch the smooth-shaven face.
“I needed a disguise.”
“You certainly did a good job. I was looking for you all day.”
“You among others.”
“Yes. Judith told me what happened. She didn’t mean any harm. She didn’t understand.”
“That doctor, too. They want me, Rebecca. Are you… Are you really a witch?”
“What do you think?”
“I think someone’s been mucking in me gulliver.”
“At least you still have a sense of humor.”
“It wasn’t a funny book.”
“So, think. What does it mean? Witches.”
“Devil worshipers, I guess. Human sacrifice. I don’t know. My head is so confused. And all these people…” He looked around. Rebecca reached up and placed her hand against his chest, willing him to let go. She was nearly overwhelmed by the images that raced through her mind, seeing the legends of the Lakes surrounding them.
“By your own definition, we are not. I gave you my word. You are always welcome with perfect love and perfect trust.”
“Why did you lie to me?”
“I didn’t lie to you. I lied to myself. I should have told you more when I first realized you were getting involved. I told myself that wasn’t necessary. That you weren’t necessary. That I could do it alone.”
“Do what?”
“Forge a new Athamé for our circle.”
“You were using me. You just wanted the knife. Just like Judith. Just like the Doctor and… and… the others. Well, your doctor friend has the knife now. You don’t need me anymore. I thought I meant something to you. But you just use sex to raise power. That’s all you wanted.”
The resounding crack of Rebecca’s hand against his newly shaven face left his ears ringing, his face smarting, and an enormous tear welling up in his eye. The impact knocked his hat off onto the ground. Through a break in the clouds, beginning to scatter overhead, the moon peeked. It would be full in a few days and it shed enough light for him to see clearly the tears in Rebecca’s eyes as she struggled to stand up.
But something in his mind had snapped with the impact. He was no longer focused on Rebecca, but on a different time/place.
Soldiers. They were already on the island. He had to escape. He had to find the way.
Rebecca was too shaken to move. Slowly her thoughts regathered. She couldn’t just let him rush off. It wasn’t his fault. Damn the circle. Damn them all. She hurried up the path after Wayne.
She rounded a curve where the path came suddenly out of the woods onto a rocky promontory overlooking the lake on one side and rising in a sharp crag on the left. She nearly tripped over Wayne’s open suitcase lying in the path. Most of the contents were scattered around it.
“Wayne, where are you?” she called. “This path just loops back on itself. Please come back.”
“This path doesn’t loop back.” She looked up for the voice and saw Wayne fifty feet up in a fissure in the rocks.
“Wayne! Don’t!” she screamed. “You can’t climb up that!”
“It’s been done before.”
“That’s a legend!”
“So is the Vagabond Poet.”
She was right there beside him. He knew he’d be all right. The naked lady of the manor was climbing up the cliff ahead of him. He looked away. That view was too distracting. He was struggling with his gear. She climbed unencumbered by pack or clothing. He grabbed hold of the white rock protruding from the fissure and wedged himself behind it.
“You’ve got too much gear on you.” In fact, he was caught and couldn’t move. He wrenched one arm free and his bow came loose, clattering down the rocky face behind him. The quiver followed. He inhaled deeply. Maybe it was true. His walking stick was stuck through the back of his poncho into the seat of his pants making it almost impossible for him to bend at the waist. His canvas bag almost went with the bow. But he could make it. Glancing back, one thing was certain: He couldn’t climb down. He looked up and the Lady’s ghost was motioning him forward.
“You’re right!” he yelled. “Here. I won’t need this. And you are The Huntress, aren’t you?” He jerked the leather thong from his neck and dropped the pouch at her feet. “There. That’s much better,” he called and continued to climb. Ahead, the ghost scampered upward. Another rock came loose and clattered down behind the leather pouch.
“Wayne, be careful!”
She closed her eyes and sank to the ground. With all the power she could thrust into it, she visualized him safe at the top of the cliff. Pebbles rained down on her and she raised her head to see his feet disappear over the top. She didn’t know why she was crying. He was safe. Even if he wasn’t with her, he was safe.
“I love you,” she called weakly into the darkness. “You vagabond maniac.”
There was only silence in response.
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