Summoning

CHAPTER ONE – STRATHCLYDE MANOR

21st June

Meredith’s 15th year

The smooth iron band felt cold – nothing like the heat it would summon. My hands shook as I placed it on my head. I held my breath.

All those years. All those lies. Now this was the only way.

My shadow flickered across the chalk outline on the stone floor as I stepped into the center of the circle. I turned to the north and faced the bank of candles set up against the wall. My shadow lay behind me.

With my right hand, I fanned out nine feathers plucked from the black rooster’s tail. I lifted them over my head from west to east in defiance of the sun. With my left hand, I unlocked the iron-bound book and found Psalm 51. I prayed the words would protect me:

Cast me not from Thy presence . . .

The words hung in the air.

. . . Deliver me from bloodguilt . . .

I closed my eyes and recited the rest from memory.

. . . then shalt Thou be pleased with the sacrifices of righteousness, with burnt offering, the whole burnt offering. ...

The pages crackled when I turned to Revelation 9:19. Placing one finger at the end, I read in reverse:

Harm they them in and, heads having, serpents to like be them of tails the for; them of mouth the in is horses the of power the for

Sweat slipped over the ridge of my lip. The feathers in my hand trembled.

I counted my heartbeats . . . twenty-one, twenty-two . . .

Hot breath on the back of my neck sent chills down my spine, through my arms to my fingertips. I wanted to run, but the circle surrounding me and the iron crown on my head bound me. I held my eyes wide open.

Legion, I acknowledged the shadow growing by my side.

Why, Meredith Pennyfather. Is that you? The voice echoed in my ears.

My voice cracked, but I managed the first question, Where are they?

What would your mother say if she heard you speaking in so rude a manner?

I wanted to strike out at him for mentioning her, but continued staring at the candles.

Where are they? I asked again – my second question – through clenched teeth.

There is an etiquette to this process. I know you paid attention to his lessons. First, we agree on my fee, and only then may you ask your questions. You have only one left, you know.

My eyes burned with the effort of not blinking. The stench of sulfur stuck to the back of my throat and in my nose. The candles blazed in front of me. Yes, I understood the rules.

Where are they? I managed the question for the third time.

Ah, I see. You listened to what he failed to say. You learned what he failed to teach.

The voice moved beside me. His breath hit my cheek, but I concentrated on the stone wall behind the candles now burning their images into my eyes.

You with your silence hiding in the shadows, watching while the old man tricked me. You with your cold eyes watching while he made his mistakes. You paid attention. But you have missed the obvious, my dear Meredith. You already have the answer to your question. You and your gifts have always held the answer.

He stood in front of me, his blue cloak skimming the floor. The hood kept all but his chin in darkness. I tried not to look at the cloak or its slippery movements.

So this was all he would offer?

My eyes felt as if they were dust and fire. My voice crackled as I threw three feathers at him. I bid you return whence you came!

The cloak and the man wavered around the edges. I threw three more feathers.

I bid you return whence you came!

The candles behind the man glowed through him. He smirked. I threw the last three feathers.

I bid you return whence you came!

He dissolved in smoke, and I choked on the lingering mist. I would have cried, but I had no tears. My eyelids scratched over my eyes as I finally closed them – shadow-candles flickered there. My knees hit the stone floor hard, but without breaking the bounds of the circle.

What did he mean I already had the answer? Where were they?

CHAPTER TWO – RAEDWALD CASTLE

1st March

Meredith’s 7th year

Meredith, child, we’ve no choice. No choice. Da’s shoulders, normally strong, shook. We’re not far. Not that far. His gray hair fell forward, hid his eyes. Shadows from the fireplace crossed his hands as he covered his face and turned away.

Ma’s arms wrapped around me tight, her hands holding my head close to her. I breathed in her scent – turnips and onions, the earth itself.

The sharp edge of a quill scratched across paper. Your account is paid. Vicar Grimsditch slammed his accounts book closed. For this year, anyway. The chair dug ruts into the dirt floor as he raised himself up. He pushed through the door without a glance back.

Hurry on, now. He’ll not wait long. Ma squeezed me once more, before allowing her hands to slide down my arms. I kissed her quickly, then grabbed the bag she’d readied for me and ran out the door.

I didn’t stop until I stood next to the vicar’s horse. They wouldn’t see me cry. I could do this. They could depend on me. I sniffed and wiped my arm across my sleeve. Ma and Da would be proud of me.

The vicar didn’t speak for a long time. When he did, his voice was deep and loud, as if he was talking to his congregation. So, I get you for seven years, and they get one year’s rent. He smiled. Your kind will sell anything, won’t they? Walk faster.

He spurred on his horse. I had to sprint to keep up.

After handing off his horse to a stableman, Vicar Grimsditch walked up the path to the main entrance of the castle. I staggered after him at a half-run. As he mounted the steps, he turned. His black eyes bore through me.

Tell Mrs. Sutton you’re hers to do with as she will. The vicar waved one hand in my direction, then disappeared beneath the ornate carvings on the stone archway and through the great oak doors.

I dropped to the ground panting, my lungs about ready to explode. A cold mist clung to the air and stuck in my nose as I tried to slow my breath.

This was the first time I’d been this close to Raedwald Castle. The tenants told tales of the goings on here. No one came close on purpose. No one except me, and standing in its shadow now made me wonder what I’d done. The walls were smooth blocks of stone built into waves and curves stretching a field's length in either direction. Three layers of windows looked out over the front lawns, and the roof reached even higher in the back. The doors that had just swallowed the vicar were tall and wide. Large black faces holding rings in their mouths hung in their middles. Black metal railings flanked either side of the jagged stairs and yawned open like a hungry mouth toward the path. Toward me.

I couldn’t dawdle – someone would likely come looking soon. Best to stay in good graces. I looked down the paths to the right and the left. Tall, stone women stood in gaps cut into the hedges. Some bent forward under the weight of pitchers or baskets on their heads. Others leaned backward, arms flung over their heads. No matter forward or back, their eyes stretched forever wide, their mouths trapped in an endless scream.

The path to the left led past low hedges surrounding large patches of grass. In the distance, apple trees grew in straight rows – the winter-bare branches scratched at the sky. The path to the right led to a walkway between the castle and the chapel that stood off a ways from the main house.

Sure, the path by the chapel would be best. Gravel shifted beneath me, and I lost my balance, but just for a moment. I kept going, each step echoing off the high stone walls.

At the corner of the house, a large stained-glass window loomed up for two stories. The glass was in shades of green and red, light blue for the sky. A form made up the middle of the scene – a huge glass vicar, his body hidden behind a dark brown podium. His black robes billowed in a non-existent wind. One arm extended up, his finger pointing to the sky. His face, though, looked toward the ground, and the stained-glass eyes followed me as I passed beneath them.

I closed my own eyes and kept going. Those eyes weren’t real. Couldn’t be real. When I was sure the window was behind me, I took a peek. Those glass eyes were still staring, accusing me of wasting the vicar’s good time.

I ran, slid and tripped. Gravel poked through my skirts and dug into my knees. My lungs refused to work. I pulled myself to my feet and forced my breaths to come slowly, evenly. In and out. In and out. I walked forward, kept my eyes looking straight.

In the middle of the long, back wall, I found a simple door. The dark wood was plain, the same as home, black marks along the bottom showing where it had been kicked open with the coming and going of washing or firewood. They were normal marks of normal life.

Not sure whether to knock or just walk in, I knocked.

A face peered out from behind the curtain beside the door. A woman about the same age as Ma peeped out the window. Unlike Ma, she was hard around the edges, wrinkled around her frown. She looked me up and down before the curtain snapped closed. The door opened a crack.

Away with you, she said. We’re not in the habit of charity.

I’m looking for Mrs. Sutton, ma’am. I fought the tears out of my voice. The vicar told me to find her.

The vicar sent you, did he? The woman clucked her tongue. What will he be sending next? The door slammed shut.

The wind on this side of the house was strong, and Ma’s old shawl did little to stop it. I tried to shield myself behind a sapling, but it did little more than the shawl.

The back of the house was long and straight, not like the fancy curves in the front. Next to the door grew a small, poorly tended kitchen garden. It was mostly just dirt and scraggly weeds. This time of year, there should at least be the shoots of spinach and sage.

The door opened, and a girl not much bigger than me walked out with a bundle.

You’re to wear this. She had dark eyes, almost black, and broad features. Her long, dark hair twisted into a neat braid hanging down her back. Name’s Bridie. Mrs. Sutton says I’s to make you presentable. Looks like my work is cut out. A bit scrawny. You been in the fields, too? The state of your feet! Come on, now. Get this on.

Here? I looked up at all the windows lining the back wall. My face grew hot.

Course here. Bridie shook her head. Those rags on your back ain’t fit. Mrs. Sutton says they’s flea-ridden, and we won’t be having no fleas. ‘Sides, it’s not like that old rag fits you none too good.

No, ma’am, I whispered. I looked down at my bare feet and ankles. The edges of my dress were frayed, but it was clean. Sure, my feet were black, but I’d just run down the path, didn’t I? Still, best to stay in good graces. The windows stared down at me as I tugged the new dress up under my skirts then tried to pull the bodice up before lifting my old dress over my head. My fingers fumbled with the laces.

Not like that. Bridie grabbed the dress. Her short, thick fingers easily tied the delicate laces. You ain’t the smartest one, is you?

No, ma’am. Tears built up in my eyes.

Stop with that ma’am stuff. I told you, I’s Bridie. Don’t you have no brain at all? Think you’re about as bright as that girl here last year. She didn’t last long neither. Bridie grabbed my shoulders and turned me around. Go wash your face and hands. Make sure to get that smudge off your nose and that dirt out your nails. Do something with that hair, too. A ginger! A ginger-haired child, and this a respectable house. What’s your name?

Meredith, m..m..ma’am.

Hurry up, Meredith. Bridie hugged herself and rubbed her hands up and down her arms for warmth. Don’t take too long neither, or you’ll catch your death. Hope you work faster than you dress. Mrs. Sutton doesn’t put up with no laziness. Yep, just like that other girl. Gildie’ll have to hear about this. Sure, Gildie’ll remember that girl. Not a brain in her head. Ain’t you done yet? Well, I’s not waiting on you. It’s too cold, it is. You can find your own way.

The well stood in the middle of the courtyard halfway to the edge of the great gardens. The bucket sat on the side. I punched a hole in the thin ice that had formed across the top. The water stabbed frozen pins and needles into my hands and face. I scrubbed until my face had to be clean. With all the wind and running this morning, my hair had wormed its way out of its ribbon and stuck to my forehead and neck.

I pulled the wooden comb from the bag and ran my thumb over its teeth. Da had made it for Ma for their wedding. He’d carved in swirling patterns with great serpents biting their own tails. Tears threatened again. I squeezed my eyes shut to keep them back.

Everything was up to me now, and I wasn’t going to let Ma and Da down. I could fix this. Besides, they weren’t far. Not that far.

5th March

Meredith’s 7th year

You’re late, and now I’m late. Follow me. Vicar Grimsditch pushed past me making the tea service wobble. The giant teapot threatened to tip over, but I managed to right it before it took the whole tray to the floor.

The vicar was already down the side hallway and halfway out the door. My feet slid