Jack Shian and the King's Chalice (22 page)

Jack and Petros sat and watched the castle, eerily silent now; all the torches had been extinguished. Jack was wondering how on earth they would get the Brashat out and the Chalice back, when the chanting began again, louder than ever.

Gosol! Gosol! Gosol!

Then, clearly visible in the bright moonlight, the Brashat began to emerge. Thirty or forty of them, headed by Briannan, each wore a long dark green cloak. Forming a phalanx, they advanced, their outstretched hands free of weapons. Two old hags in black cloaks flew around at the rear, swooping and turning, cackling shrilly. Jack could see Hobshee scurrying around at the back. While some clung nervously to the coattails of the Brashat, others peeked fearfully from windows and doorways.

Briannan held the Cup high above his head as he walked proudly forward. Brightly polished now, it shone brilliantly. Rowan walked self-assuredly just behind him.

The phalanx got to about twenty yards away and stopped.

“This is the night of Hallows’ Eve, when all the witchies ride!” chanted Briannan triumphantly.

The chanting from the boats diminished slightly, but Cosmo stepped forward and shouted back, “
This is the night of Hallows’ Eve, the morn is Hallows’ Day!
”

Briannan paused, his face showing the first signs of doubt.

“Tonight is the night for all Shian,” he proclaimed. “And tonight the Unseelie have the prize sought by so many for so long.” He brandished the Cup again.

“You’re a thief!” shouted Atholmor.

A thief’s brief reward,
thought Jack.
Tamlina said that.

“But we have the Cup,” Briannan shouted back. “The power over death – even over Nature! You think your boats of ghosts can take it from us? The memories of holy men? Then Hallows’ Eve or no, prepare to die.”

Each Brashat now drew out a sceptre. The Hobshee, gaining confidence, brandished their clubs, howling in excitement. But as the phalanx moved forward, a different sound came from the forest behind Jack, a sound of drumming. No, not drumming, but something rhythmic and harsh, getting louder and louder. The Brashat halted, not ten yards from the boats, and the Hobshee began whimpering again. Everyone turned to look at the forest.

Then Jack saw them. Three mighty longships, a dragon’s head at the prow of each, gliding through the forest. They dwarfed the other boats, and Jack could see the warriors lining the sides of these mighty ships.

Did I summon them too?!

Brandishing axes and swords, the warriors beat these noisily against round wooden shields. Some of the Brashat started to back away.

“Face them! Face them!” bellowed Briannan, sensing the unease in his ranks. “They’re only ghosts!”

Then Grandpa Sandy stepped out and confronted Briannan.

“Only ghosts?” he roared, overcoming his pain. “
This is the night of Hallows’ Eve, when more than ghosties ride!
”

Briannan, looking behind Grandpa, staggered back, still clutching the Cup. His face showed abject terror.

The next moment, the longships broke through the edge of the forest.

It wasn’t really a battle. As the longships crashed through the edge of the forest, the Brashat broke ranks and scattered. Leaping from the boats, warriors laid into the terrified Brashat and Hobshee, their swords and axes making mayhem. Jack saw several fall, hacked and bleeding. Briannan vainly ordered his followers to stand their ground, but it was already too late. In a matter of seconds, a longship had out-paced those who tried to head back to the castle. Behind it, Henri, Tom and Radge hexed the Brashat that were left there as they ran in terror. The two flying hags made off into the night, screaming obscenities.

Rowan and several Brashat ran panic-stricken for the cover of the trees, but Cosmo urged the others on to prevent them. Sceptres were levelled at the fleeing figures, and bolt after bolt lit up the gloom of the forest’s edge. Those who had been hit lay, alive but motionless.

Ossian and the Darrig stood by the edge of the trees. As those Brashat who had escaped the sceptre bolts came within range, they swung their clubs. Jack and Petros picked up branches from the ground and joined in. They each sheltered behind a tree and tripped up and knocked unconscious the panicked Brashat and Hobshee as they sought safety. Surreptitiously, Jack snatched one of the Brashat’s sceptres and concealed it inside his coat. Further back in the woods, Doonya stood shielding Rana and Lizzie, who tried desperately to see what was happening.

Grandpa and Atholmor advanced towards Briannan, a lonely general deserted by his troops. Longships flanked him to left and right. Those warriors who had not already descended now did so, and they advanced menacingly, their axes gleaming. Briannan looked desperately around, seeking an avenue of escape, but his group was surrounded.

“I’ll destroy the Cup!” he shouted in a desperate bid to assert his authority. Holding it aloft with his left hand, he pointed his sceptre at it.

Without warning, a fiery glow erupted on the roof of the ruined castle, and there was a rumble of thunder. Jack could see a figure in the red glow, tall and powerful looking, and with a single horn on his right side of his forehead. The figure swayed backwards and forwards, and then Jack saw that several smaller creatures were restraining it. A loud hissing noise came from its mouth, like a fire over which water has been thrown. With a loud thunder crack, the air turned ice cold, and Jack felt a wave of fear run through him.

“It’s Amadan!” shrieked Armina.

Briannan and the remaining Brashat now started to make a fight of it. They fired volleys of hexes at the approaching warriors, some of whom fell, soundlessly. Jack saw Radge, emerging from behind the castle, catching the full force of a lightning hex and crumpling instantly.

On the roof, Amadan seemed to grow even taller. Sparks flew from his hands, and a longship mast burst into flames, fiery splinters cascading over the warriors below. Atholmor, a look of terror on his face, leapt aside as a flaming timber crashed to the ground beside him.

“Rally! Rally!” called Briannan exultantly, and Jack could see the Brashat warriors growing in confidence as Amadan’s hexes found their mark.

The tide had turned. Cosmo and the Congress members were sheltering beneath the meagre protection of a fallen tree. The Norse warriors were being decimated, and several monks lay lifeless. Then, with horror, Jack saw Amadan point his right forefinger at Grandpa Sandy.

“No!” Jack leapt forward, his blue eye ablaze. He withdrew the sceptre he had hidden inside his own coat – but it was too late. A bolt flew from Amadan’s hand, there was a loud snapping sound, and Grandpa fell, immobile.

No! This wasn’t supposed to happen!

Crouching to shield his grandfather’s body, Jack raised his sceptre, and aimed it at the rooftop figure.

“Gosol!”

A lightning bolt shot forward, sparkling as it flew, and the rooftop figure staggered. Seeing this, Cosmo raised his own sceptre.

“Gosol!”

The double bolts crackled as they flew towards the roof. It felt like a ton weight was pushing his arm down, but Jack kept his sceptre steady. Amadan rocked backwards and forwards, and stumbled, at which a great shout came from the monks.

“Gosol! Gosol! Gosol!”

Amadan gave an ear-splitting roar as he was subsumed into a huge sheet of flame. The inferno rose up from the roof and spiralled into a great dart, which veered first upwards, then down towards where Jack crouched over his grandfather’s body. The fiery dart bore down on the youngster, scattering all before it.

Jack’s arm ached, and he felt it falling as the dart approached. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to keep his sceptre up. At the last second, Amadan swerved upwards, passing over Jack’s head and burning the side of his face. The fire faded into a glow in the air above Jack, then disappeared with a final
crack
! The Brashat warriors, their inspiration snatched away, deflated like a stabbed balloon. Exhausted, Jack sank down.

Complete silence.

Jack shook his head, and looked round at his grandfather.

He’s not breathing!

In a panic, Jack shouted across to Briannan, “Give me the Cup! It can save Grandpa!”

And then the bell chimed.

A single bell, it tolled steadily in the still air, even, unhurried.

Twelve chimes.

An eerie silence descended. Even the dying Brashat stopped their moaning.

“Hallows’ Eve is past, is past, and now ’tis Hallows’ Day!”

The first boat’s lead figure had broken his silence, his voice clear and strong. Stepping down from the boat, he advanced towards Briannan. Floating as his colleague had done at the cave, the figure passed through the warriors and stopped in front of the Brashat leader. Even in the moonlight, Jack could see Briannan’s face turn yet paler as he looked around at his defeated comrades. His arms sagged. Cup and sceptre dropped to the ground. Sinking to his knees, he summoned his last reserves of defiance and shouted, “Then kill me!”

The monk stood, impassive. Then he put his right hand into his cloak. Briannan waited for the sword to be drawn, but instead the figure drew out a small phial. He pulled a cloth plug from its neck, and poured a little oil onto Briannan’s head. Collapsing back, Briannan lay motionless. The monk then stooped down and picked up the Cup. A cheer rose from the boats, then the chant rose again, urgently calling,
“Gosol! Gosol! Gosol!”

The monk glided over to where Jack sat, hunched over his grandfather. Looking down into the boy’s tear-stained face, he smiled and handed him the Cup, then reached into his cloak and withdrew a ram’s horn. He pulled out the stopper and poured some red liquid into the Cup.

Cradling his grandfather’s head, Jack tipped some of the fluid into his mouth. Most of it spilled down, but some dribbled in. Jack waited expectantly.

But nothing happened.

Jack wiped some of the spilled liquid from his grandfather’s face.

Nothing.

“I thought it was supposed to defeat death!” Jack shouted at the monk, looking up imploringly. The monk remained standing there, impassive.

“If you believe.”

“He
should
live. He
deserves
to. And we need him.
Please
.”

Hot tears ran down Jack’s cheeks now, and he glared angrily at the monk, who merely smiled back, and nodded down at Grandpa Sandy.

“He’s not dead.”

Following his gaze, Jack saw his grandfather’s eyelids flicker. Then a gasping noise, and Grandpa Sandy shook slightly before pushing himself into a sitting position.

“Did I … bring him back?” Jack looked up at the monk.

“You believed.”

“Gosol! Gosol! Gosol!”

The warriors joined in now, clashing their swords and axes once more against their shields. The noise built to a deafening crescendo, then the figure held up his hand, and there was silence.

The monk took the Cup back from Jack and glided back to where Briannan lay motionless. Picking up the Brashat’s sceptre, he shot a bolt into the sky, which began to glow, softly at first, then more brightly. The clearing, bathed in moonlight up to now, looked almost as if it was in daylight. As the light rose, the bodies of the slain ghosts seemed to evaporate, and a rumbling sound came from the earth. Over the next minute, a stepped forum began to sink into the ground.

And suddenly the sky was filled with creatures. Not since midsummer had Jack seen so many different kinds. Horses and pisgies landed, depositing their riders in the clearing. Phooka cantered in from the edge of the forest, Elle-folk and korrigans skipped past the trees to join the throng.

Tomte and Nisse, the Congress dwarves, appeared beside Atholmor, just as Samara arrived with Henri’s brother Philippe; and there was Matthew, the referee from Claville, still clutching his leather-bound volume. And Murkle, standing alone, but smiling, clearly in his element.

“Where’ve they all come from?” asked Petros, of no one in particular.

Jack shrugged his shoulders. Tonight had almost lost its power to amaze him. Rana, Lizzie and Doonya approached.

“Are you all all right?” asked Doonya anxiously.

“We’re fine,” beamed Petros. “That was awesome, though, eh?”

“We weren’t allowed to join in,” pouted Rana.

“It wasn’t a game,” said her father in exasperation. “You’d already been attacked once.”

“It just sort of grazed me,” said Rana confidently. “And Henri fixed it. My shoulder’s grand.”

“Jack, you’d better let Armina see that burn on your face.”

As Jack went over to find Armina, Petros asked, “So what’s happening now, then?”

As if in answer, the ghost monk held aloft the Cup, and once more there was silence.

“I am Comgall,” he announced, his voice clear and strong. “We were summoned this night to rescue the Chalice from those who would follow evil. Many will claim the Chalice tonight. There has been bloodshed, but we come to proclaim not warfare but peace.”

Doonya ushered the youngsters towards their grandfather – looking ashen – and the other Congress members. Henri, Philippe and Matthew joined them with Ossian and the Cos-Howe crew. Jack walked up, holding a small stone to his burnt face.

To their left were the few remaining longship warriors. Across from them, the ghost monks. A small space around these groups betrayed the Shian fear of their iron axes and swords. Fenrig and Morrigan were made to sit beside the hexed Brashat, who, along with Briannan, had been laid out on the steps. The Phooka, Elle-folk and other Shian found seats where they could.

There was an expectant hush. Comgall and Matthew walked down to the base of the forum. Comgall cradled the Chalice carefully, as if it were a newborn baby. Matthew addressed the whole congregation.

“The King’s Chalice has been found after many years. Shian, you are all part of the great hidden commonwealth – what the human world rarely sees or knows. You are summoned to partake in an historic decision. While for some tonight is their journey’s end,” he gestured towards the dead Brashat and Hobshee, “the lives of many have been spared.”