Chapter 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.