Tales from an Unexpected Universe: Fantasy Collection: The Gatekeepers of Genthor, Guardians of the Field, The Magic Hour

By Regina Clarke

THREE TALES OF FANTASY, OVER 700 PAGES, THAT TAKE YOU INTO WORLDS OF INTENSE IMAGINATION AND POWERFUL JOURNEYS INTO LANDSCAPES OF THE UNKNOWN

THE GATEKEEPERS OF GENTHOR
A dark legacy... A hidden enemy... A doorway into a virtual world... A young brother and sister in a medieval land who must hunt a killer.

On journeys into the enchanted forest of Aginmare, Gwendolen receives training in the ancient art of the Esoteric, to master inner vision. At home in the summer fields of Genthor, Will trains in the longbow with his uncle, a monk in a nearby monastery, and sees himself as a spiritual warrior. Their lives seem cloistered and safe.

Until a nameless and unseen intruder threatens their world.

Gwendolen and Will find themselves immersed in a dark journey. Extraordinary help comes to them, first through Gideon, Will's falcon, who teaches him the power of silence in war. Then there is Ga Fael Fawr, the gatekeeper of Aginmare, who gives Gwendolen a sword that is much more than a weapon.

They must find the way soon, for the intruder has already crossed the barrier of the esoteric, and broken the line between worlds.

GUARDIANS OF THE FIELD
A doomsday trigger. A field of magic. A desperate call to those who can see beyond the veil of life and death.

The field of the Esarad is the home of scryers, ageless ones who enter both future and past at will. Karin Anavid must protect her young daughter, born a scryer, from those who would harm her. Maeta, a guardian of the Esarad, guides them both in a desperate race across a land gutted by war. They face a ruler obsessed with finding a hidden route through the ice mountains of Scrinac into the Esarad to annihilate it, and the betrayal of an old friend whose greed has consumed him into darkness.

And there is Yorajil, a child of light, who follows her mother and guardian but is led by forces she barely understands to find her true home.

Each one is drawn inexorably toward the ruined city of Alcedama and a doomsday trigger that lies at the heart of an ancient prophecy.

THE MAGIC HOUR
Before full night comes, when the air is indigo and objects less distinct, time and space can shift...this is the magic hour. For homicide detective Nathan Byrne, it is a time that signals chaos. As he tracks down art thefts connected to a murder in an abandoned mine, his head injury from a car accident triggers blackouts that pull him into the shadows of an alternate world, one that seems to be more than a hallucination.

Sent by his captain into a backwater small town in the Pacific Northwest to get his act together, Nathan finds himself drawn to the slower pace of life the town holds, to the work of solving a real-life murder with the local sheriff, and to Sela, an artist and preacher. But the blackouts continue and each time he is drawn deeper into the destiny of the alternate world called Elaimat whose leader, Naliv, tells him her world cannot survive without his help.

Nathan knows he needs to be healed, that surgery is the only way, but he resists. Yet as the border between the two worlds begins to merge, he is no longer sure he can remember which one is real.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Regina Clarke
• Release date: Jul 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463592137

Book preview

What would they have me do in this empty hole of a place? Will Nash slammed his fist against the wall, knowing it was useless, feeling the pain shoot through his arm. Beyond the narrow bars he could see very little outside the compound, just a sliver of green that climbed the hillsides of the Genthor summer. No one called out from other cells that surrounded the courtyard below.

The outer gate clanged open and he heard the heavy step of the guard.

You have a visitor, the man said, pulling back bolts and unlocking the door.

Since when? They said I wasn’t allowed--

Will, at last! The girl pushed past the guard and hugged him. She was dressed in a deep royal blue cape, her dark hair wild around her face.

He stared at her. How on earth did you get here? How did you get past them? Why did they agree to let you see me?

I’d almost think you weren’t glad I’ve come, with such questions. The ride was easy. I took Marjon. She went like the wind. Our mother told me how to get past obstacles, don’t you know.

Will gave a half smile. Yes, I’d forgotten. Ma would know what you needed. I am glad to see you, of course I am. There’s nothing you can do. They’ve made their decision and I’m their pawn.

So much gloom! There’s nothing to worry about. When I leave here, you’re going with me.

Really. How do we escape—through that? He gestured to the stone casement. It was hardly a slit in the wall. Or are you suggesting the guard will escort us?

More questions. Some trust would be welcome. I got here, and I can get you out of here. Are you ready?

Will studied his sister. She had been strong-minded from the day of her birth. Their mother had said often that Gwendolen began life with a howl so loud the midwife covered her ears.

I’m delighted to join you, no doubt of that.

Good. Just walk beside me.

She went to the door and called through the small window to the guard. He came and opened the door and she walked out. Will stayed in the cell.

Now, she hissed at him. For heaven’s sake, walk beside me now!

Will stared at her and then at the guard, who was watching him. Waiting for the blow to strike and against common sense he stepped out of the cell. Gwendolen grabbed his hand and they started walking toward the central gate, which had been raised. The guard shut the door to Will’s cell and locked it. He went over to a small table and sat, lifting up a container at the same time and drinking it down. He didn’t seem interested in them at all.

You gave him that ale? Will said.

Mama’s version of it.

In another moment they were outside the prison.

The sheriff will send a dozen to capture me again, and likely come himself.

Not where we’re going, Gwendolen said. She looked at Will with irritation and affection at once. I am not on a fool’s errand here. I have exact instructions and I’m carrying them out. All you have to do is come along with me.

Whose instructions? Will asked. Apart from you and Ma, there’s no one in all of Genthor who believes in me. I am guilty in their eyes and that’s been proven in their ridiculous trial twice now.

Gwendolen gestured around her. Look here, Will. What do you see?

Before them the hills rose in waves of deep green grass and trees and the sky was blue and cloudless. A warm breeze crossed over them.

Freedom, he said.

Let’s keep it that way. Marjon is waiting in a hollow over beyond that hill. Hurry now.

The rounsey lifted her head as they approached and willingly took them both on her back. Gwendolen held the reins and led them to a path that was rarely traveled.

Aren’t you going to render us invisible so we can ride on the main road? It’d be a lot faster, Will said.

You’re mocking me, but I tell you, you’re safe. I’m not trying to hide us but to get to our destination.

Home.

Sort of…Mama attended your trial, you know, Gwendolen said, changing the subject.

Yes, I saw her at the edge of the crowd. It helped me stay calm, a bit. These people love nothing more than to torture a man, in mind or body or both. They’re predictable in their thirst for blood and unpredictable in when they want to exercise it. They aren’t going to be happy to find me gone.

They won’t know you are, said his sister.

He almost missed her words. The sky had grown overcast and a strong wind had picked up, obscuring her voice.

What do you mean? he called out.

Gwendolen turned her head to look back at him briefly. Wait till we get where we need to be. I can explain more easily, then. We must leave this place, and quickly.

She leaned forward and spoke in Marjon’s ear. The next moment they were racing along. Will could see a sweep of rain coming down in the distance. Soon it would be on them.

Minutes before he had been in a stinking cell, certain he would be dragged out for the crowd to jeer at yet again as soon as the sheriff and his followers returned from presenting the case to the Court, a one-sided argument and no one asking Will Nash for his opinion. Now he was heading into a distinct unknown, but whatever his sister and mother had planned, there was no way he could stay undetected for long. Anyone refusing to help in the search for him would be fined, or worse, his friends included. None could afford that.

He had acted with intent, and he would again if given the opportunity. His skill at falconry might be something the sheriff wanted to exploit, but that required Will’s cooperation. They couldn’t force him.

The storm hit them as they rounded a curve in the road and faced the open plain of Leeve, but once again he had underestimated his mother, and his sister’s apprenticeship under her. While the rain came down in sheets around them they rode untouched, an unseen shield protecting them from the downpour and the lightning that struck repeatedly. He watched as always in fascination as small trails of fire rose up from the ground to be met with jagged strikes from the clouds, the outcome of their joining together changing the landscape into a brilliant, stark white. He could feel the thunder that followed deep in his bones but the rounsey seemed oblivious to the sound and didn’t hesitate.

They rode out of the storm ten miles later and he saw the derelict remains of a building on a low rise. It was the monastery that had burned in a fire, displacing the monks until a new one was built closer to the town. The guilds had shared housing of the abbot and the monks themselves held to their vow of poverty and lived with the lay peasants. Will remembered the abbot’s stay with them very well. He had tried to order their mother about like a servant. He had had no idea who he was dealing with, Will remembered, smiling.

To his surprise Gwendolen guided Marjon off the road and toward the ruins. She rode behind a retaining wall and stopped the horse.

Here. We’ll wait for Mama here.

Will got down and reached up his hand to help her, but she was already beside him.

I’m sorry it took me so long to get to you, Gwendolen said. I would have been there much sooner, but on his way to court the sheriff visited us and stayed for two days. He pretended to be going to plead your case. His attraction for our mother shows you how stupid the man is. Does he think she would be drawn to him when he has imprisoned her son? It wouldn’t do to antagonize him or let him know our plans, so that is why the delay.

Not to forget that the sheriff is more than a little interested in the land that we own, that our father so carefully protected, and that still belongs to our mother outright.

How could I? He marries her and it all becomes his in an instant. No, not an outcome Roana Nash would accept, Gwendolen said with a laugh.

Indeed it is not.

They both turned around to see their mother before them, her cloak wrapped around her, its dark green cloth covering all but her face. She drew it off and embraced her children and then stood a few steps away to survey Will.

You don’t look worse for wear, overall. Well done, Will. I’m sure you would have been happier without that experience, but in the end it has served you.

Everything is a lesson? offered Will, grinning at her.

Exactly. Nothing is ever wasted.

I don’t see anything amusing in this, Gwendolen said. Having association with Edmund deMobray comes to mind as something we could have lived without. As sheriff he has brought his own desires to the fore and ignored the rest of us.

Gwendolen, you are impatient as usual, and it is both your best trait and your least helpful, depending on how you use it. The sheriff is in our world. You know that means he has value for some reason, whether we understand what that is or not.

If something brings us grief, I can’t see why we have to sustain it at all, Gwendolen said, and she would have stamped her foot but knew how childish that would appear. Still, it worried at her that anyone had the power to arrest her brother and make assumptions about her mother.

No one has such power, haven’t I told you that many times? It is an illusion, Roana Nash said, reading her thoughts. She rested her hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

Not if Will has to spend time in a filthy prison! I saw it and it was very real.

Ah, yes, we are back to that. I’ve neglected your training. I’ll have to correct that. Though Gwendolen is to take over my path eventually, she said, turning to Will, you know that you will always be a vital part of my intention and outcomes. For now, I must act without help. You can both watch and witness what I am about to do. Leave Marjon here. She’ll find her own way home.

Gwendolen took an instrument from a sack she had placed across Marjon’s saddle and handed it to Will.

Ah, my lute! Thank you. I have missed this most of all, he said, as he fingered the strings. His father had secured it for him at some cost years before. He brushed his hand across the yew heartwood back and the ivory lines that lay between the ribs. As every star in the firmament sings praise to thee, dear Son of God, so may this lute lend pleasing sound to those who hear it play, he said softly as he swung its carrying strap over his shoulder.

Gwendolen took her purse of red velvet from a hook on the saddle and touched her horse’s head in a gesture of affection. Take care, Marjon. I’ll be back soon enough.

Receive my thoughts and dismiss anything else from your head, Roana Nash said to her children. She was proud of them, but all too aware how much more practice they required to carry out a purpose neither of them as yet understood.

However, they both knew how to travel with her, how to receive the impulses and allow passage through the curving scrolls of color that would absorb them and fade when they arrived at their destination. It would take only a moment, and yet seem so much longer to the traveler. That element of mysterious time never failed to intrigue them. This journey was no exception, but the destination when it appeared startled them.

What on earth are we doing here?! Gwendolen said in dismay.

Will surveyed the valley below them. They were in the middle of the sheriff’s property, acres of land in all directions, bordered by a forest on two sides that was also under ownership of Edmund deMobray.

Our favorite sheriff has something of mine. I want it back. There’s nothing for you to do, as I said. Just observe, and of course, stay close to me. Roana Nash began to walk toward the residence that lay in the center of the valley, its stone turrets and extended walls signs of royal dispensation. The king appreciated deMobray’s assiduous collection of taxes as well as his predilection to mete swift judgments on anyone he felt had transgressed the latest set of laws.

They’ve already seen us coming, Gwendolen said.

Why not? There’s no harm in my visiting the sheriff, especially if I am apparently unaware he is away. They’ll give us some food and drink and I can explore his rooms and find what I want, and then we leave. Minutes only.

So we should entertain everyone while you search? Will said. He tapped the lute.

I will sing. Only this time remember to accompany me and not go off on your variations where I cannot follow in the least! Gwendolen said.

I will play exactly as you sing, then, whether you are on the right note or the wrong one, Will said.

Hush. Let me talk to the guards. Roana Nash approached the mercenaries who guarded the entrance. As she did so the steward came out and met her at the gatehouse.

Greetings to you, Roger of Wynclose. I’ve come to see Edmund deMobray, she said.

Of course, milady, but he is gone from here. He won’t return for two more days.

The man was deferential. He knew that Roana Nash was a prize the sheriff wanted to possess. Along with the fifty hectares that her husband as a freeholder had left her at his death. He seemed to take no notice of Will, but gave a quick nod of his head toward Gwendolen.

We have come a long way. Surely you intend to give us some relief from hunger and thirst?

I ordered food and drink as soon as I saw you in the distance. Where are your horses?

We chose to walk a little. I’ve left them with our servant, she said, flicking her hand toward the forest. They can rest and drink from the stream that flows there.

Gwendolen had a quick vision of Marjon undoubtedly back at their home by then and in her stall eating the oats left for her.

Please come with me, Roger said, with a slight bow.

The three of them followed him through the gate, across the inner courtyard and up one flight of stairs to a large hall. No one was in it, though a fire burned in the hearth at one end. The walls were decorated in tapestries woven with gold that showed scenes of battles. Under their feet sweet-smelling straw muffled the sound of their shoes. Little light showed through the slits in the stone but small torches scattered here and there brightened the room. Close to the hearth a table had already been set for three. The steward had indeed seen them arriving and was extending rapid hospitality. Their report to Edmund deMobray must be a good one if he should ask the family how they were received. He would ask, Roger knew.

As servants came in with plates of food and cups of wine and ale he hovered about them as they began to eat.

We are most comfortable, thanks to you, Roana Nash said to him. Please go and continue your own work. I know all too well the care such a large manor requires. We are fine here. My daughter will sing for me after we are finished eating and then we’ll take our leave.

As you like, Roger said, aware that he had a quandary, for if the visitors lacked anything while he was gone it would be his fault. Yet in the end he counted it best to agree with the request and he was also impatient to return to his own hectic schedule. Although the sheriff was away, management of the estate remained worrisome. Several pigs had been stolen over the last few days. If Edmund deMobray returned and the thief had not been found, it would be unfortunate.

I will come back before you leave, then, he said, again giving a slight bow and leaving the room.

Are you done eating? Roana Nash asked her children after a few minutes had passed.

Not quite, Gwendolen said as she tore off a piece of ham from its bone and swallowed some ale.

Yes, of course we are, Will said, moving the food and drink away from her. I think it is time for us to do something else, he said.

Gwendolen understood but regretted they had so little time to spend dining. The sheriff always presented a good table.

Ah, but everything here has been taken by force from the tenants of this manor, said her mother, again reading her mind. That makes it less difficult to turn away from the gift of it, do you not agree, daughter?

Will adjusted the strap of his instrument and tested the strings. Since he does not seem aware of my presence, will the sheriff’s steward imagine Gwendolen is also the lute player?

His mother smiled. "It is possible.

Gwendolen stood up and walked near the fire, enjoying its warmth. The air had a chill in it, held too long by the stone walls. When she turned around Roana Nash had left the room.

Sing, Will said. Hurry. Mother has but a quarter hour at the most. He started to play a song she had never heard before.

Something else! she said.

Will relented and began to play the haunting notes of an old melody Gwendolen had learned in her childhood. She sang in a soft voice: Stond wel, moder, vnder rode, cross bihold thi child wyth glade mode, when Will signaled her to go louder. She took a deep breath and her voice rang through the hall:

Blythe moder mittu ben, might thou

Svne, quu may blithe stonden? who

Hi se thin feet, hi se thin honden, I see

Nayled to the hard tre.

A servant passing by the door had stopped to listen. When they caught sight of him he rushed away.

That is such a sad song. Choose another, Gwendolen said.

Will fingered the strings at random before sliding into one he felt sure would please his sister.

Remember this one? He gave her the opening phrase.

Of course. Our father taught us that when he took us over to the sea to watch the fishermen. The sun was so hot and our mother had given us a basket of fruit and bread.

Sing it. Be sure you keep singing this time until Ma is back with us. If we are quiet for too long Roger of Wynclose will hurry to make sure we’re all right. He’ll discover she isn’t here and perhaps that I am! Go on.

Gwendolen listened to the first notes and began to sing the words. They spoke of spring arriving and daisies in the valley and the songs of birds, and her heart felt light as she let her voice fill the large room again:

Lenten ys come with loue to toune,

With blosmen ant with briddes roune,

That al this blisse bryngeth.

Dayeseyes in this dales,

Notes suete of nyhtegales,

Vch foul song singeth.

The threstelcoc him threteth oo;

Away is huere wynter wo

When woderoue springeth.

This foules singeth ferly fele

Ant wlyteth on huere wynne wele

That al the wode ryngeth.

Will looked up in surprise. His sister usually raced through the music, impatient to be done and off on some other task of her own liking. This time her tone was rich in its timbre and held a lilt and rhythm she had not offered before.

The singing surprised Gwendolen just as much. It had felt different than any time she could remember. It was as if she had entered a trance.

You are an artist, daughter, and just coming to know of it. Their mother had entered the hall.

Will and Gwendolen looked at what she held in her hands, a sheaf of papers and a necklace made of amber.

This necklace belonged to your father’s sister, she said, holding it up so that the firelight gleamed through it.

Alina. I never knew her. It’s very beautiful, Gwendolen said. Why have you taken it?

Because she told me when she was dying that she wanted you to have it, but Edmund deMobray took it from her neck while she lay in the bed. He heard the words of his own wife but the man can’t help his greed. I’ve retrieved it for you to fulfill a promise I made to her. I’m grateful I have managed to do so now.

And the papers? Will asked.

Roana Nash brushed her hand across the pages of parchment. These are your father’s journals. All I could find, at least. They were stolen by deMobray’s men, along with other things, while you father was staying at an inn on a journey to the city. You were young. He stopped writing them after that, afraid the things he had to say would get into the wrong hands and place both of you and me in jeopardy.

Why haven’t we ever heard about this before? Gwendolen asked. She couldn’t remember a time when her mother had spoken so much of their father at once. She had loved him a great deal, she had said, so that it was hard to think of him even now without the sadness overwhelming her. She kept it all at bay.

I didn’t know the sheriff could read, Will said. He’s had no schooling, has he?

He cannot. His desire was to own something of John Nash, though he claims no role in the robbery, but I learned of it.

From our Uncle Rafe, guessed Gwendolen.

Yes, her mother said, smiling at her. Father Eadmer—Rafe—is always in great demand for his herbs and people enjoy talking to him.

Monks go just about anywhere, agreed Will.

Exactly. He listened to a description of this kind of theft in this very hall only days ago. Edmund deMobray’s steward had had too much to drink and was explaining how well he helped the sheriff part travelers from their goods on a regular basis.

Roana Nash tucked the papers and necklace in one of the deep pockets of her dress.

Seconds later the steward appeared at the entrance.

You have eaten very little, Roger said with disappointment, looking at the table.

I would have had more, Gwendolen said, but—. She stopped, unsure what to say.

We must leave, as we must get home before dark, said her mother.

Yes, of course. Should I have someone go and get your servant and the horses? he asked.

No, not at all. I can manage that. Just let Sir Edmund know we came here.

Easily done. With yet another slight bow the steward led them to the entrance and waved them on their way.

He’ll watch until we’re out of sight. Go straight across the valley and up the hill to the woods, Roana Nash said.

As they walked at a deliberate pace across the field Will noticed the sky had darkened, though it was still far from dusk. Another storm was brewing. There had been more than usual this season, he thought, wondering why.

Remember what I told you? his mother said, in answer to his unspoken thought. The weather is not fickle or unpredictable. It follows exactly the state of mind of the people who live in a given area. This can be evidenced in many ways. For some, it can be earthquakes or cyclones. For us, it is heavy rain and thunder. Each will appear when there are disturbances in the mindset shared by a people.

He did remember. It had fascinated him to discover what an earthquake could do, how it was formed, or to stand at the center of a massive, swirling vortex of wind and water and hail. Their mother often took them on her journeys, so long as they stayed witnesses and didn’t try to participate. That wasn’t difficult, since the strangeness of the worlds she could enter often left both him and Gwendolen rooted to the spot, watching everything but fearful that their slightest movement could send them into that world with no way back.

Edmund deMobray is going to see that the papers and necklace are missing. He’ll know it’s you! Gwendolen said to her mother.

I don’t think so. He had them both together in a box behind other storage, and none of it had been disturbed for some time.

When he does, he could accuse someone else, Gwendolen persisted.

Her mother looked at her with approval. Her daughter was headstrong, and Roana Nash liked that, even though it meant Gwendolen would find herself in difficult circumstances more often than not. She would also learn how to measure her temper and her curiosity, to let both show when they were to her advantage. What struck Roana Nash most, however, was the passion for fairness that Gwendolen showed. That would help to make her a leader in her own way, just as Will would be in his. Both of them would pursue and honor their father’s legacy, along with hers.

If he should discover the loss, though I am quite sure he will not, and links it to me, I’ll explain to him that if he attempts to cause trouble for me he can forget any prospect of marriage.

Both her children stopped walking and stared at her.

You can’t mean that otherwise you would consider his proposal? Will asked.

Never, she said, laughing. Just because I mention marriage doesn’t mean I have any intention of pursuing it. Come now, let’s get to the forest quickly.

They turned when they reached the edge of the woods. Roger of Wynclose was indeed still watching them as he stood beside a large stone well that lay some yards away from the manor, half covered by flowering vines. They entered the canopy of trees. Once out of sight they stepped into a clearing.

Receive my thoughts and dismiss anything else from your minds, Roana Nash said again to her children. The next moment they were in front of their own home, and Gwendolen ran to the stable to visit with Marjon.

The first place the sheriff will look to find me is here, Will said to his mother.

True, but he won’t see you, anymore than his steward did. When I tell him you aren’t here he’ll have to believe me. If I had not been away, Edmund deMobray would never have been able to capture you. He’ll pay for this, that I have promised myself. If Gwendolen had not been able to release you, I would have come, but I was sure she would manage and she needed the practice.

Will laughed. She didn’t hesitate even a second. You’d have thought she’d been training in your Esoteric for seven years, not one.

Good. Now, let’s decide what we should do next. There’s the problem of unfair grain distribution. The forest is also at risk and if they clear much more of it the land will become prey to more severe weather patterns. Then there is the matter of trade. It’s governed by greed, as always, but now there is the additional problem of tainted goods being sold to the freeholders. Most of all, there are the soldiers.

Will knew that administering to her own estate was not the limit of his mother’s desire and interest. Like her husband, she wanted to create a land that could be shared equally by all. Following a path that mattered to her heart was most important. At the same time, her special skills could not ensure solutions all the time. They could only work with events in which she herself was involved. She could protect others, but she could not be everywhere at once.

There were not many who practiced her craft. The Esoteric was something one was born to, and only women received it. More than once it had occurred to him that for Roana Nash there had to be a great loneliness given the nature of her essential self, and especially since the man she had loved so much had been killed and taken from her. She had no one to talk to. He and Gwendolen were close to her, but it could not be the same thing.

What do you want me to do? he asked her.

What I cannot. Find a way to enter a soldiers’ camp at night as if you’re one of them. Listen to them. There are plans to advance on property held by freeholders and even that owned by some of the knights who are away in the East. See if you can find out when this is to happen. It is likely to be soon. They have increased in numbers.

Will had seen the fires from the camps at night scattered over the northern slopes of Genthor. In the course of the last year their ranks had strengthened.

They’re likely to recognize me, he said. When I was taken to the prison, crowds gathered to watch, even calling out for a worse punishment for me, people I didn’t even know. Soldiers lined the route. They heard from the sheriff that I was a traitor and assumed I was. No law is going to protect me.

Roana Nash gazed at her son and put her arms around him for a moment. I’m sorry you had to go through that. A crowd is like its own creature, as if all the minds in it had become welded into one. The loudest voice often sways the rest.

That would be Alan Tanner. He walked beside me shouting insults that the crowd picked up. One moment I was checking a fallow field, seeing whether it was ready for cultivation, and the next I was arrested, and he was the one who had made the accusation. No proof required, just his word.

The Tanners have always chosen a path of expedience. He assumed with you gone my land could be seized. The sheriff had not hesitated to encourage him.

Will smiled. How very much Edmund deMobray underestimates you.

As do others. In many ways, that’s to my advantage, his mother said with an answering smile. In any event, in the camp you enter you will be received well. That much I can ensure.

Gwendolen appeared from the stable, her cloak wrapped around her. It’s gone cold, she said, shivering.

Let’s go in, said her mother. Roana Nash put an arm around each of her children and they entered the house together.

CHAPTER 2: A Mercenary’s Challenge

At sixteen Will felt already well-versed in the arts of war. He had never used his training, but his uncle had made sure of his skill. Rafe had taught Will from the age of seven, hoping in that way to allay some of Will’s grief at the loss of his father. At their last meeting they had used swords first and the priest had fallen on the ground. The student surpasses the teacher! he had shouted, laughing.

They had moved to archery next. Will had a weakness in his right arm so Rafe taught him to hold the bow in his right and use his left side for the draw and shooting. It hadn’t been easy, but according to the priest his alternate bow arm gave him the advantage of surprise and other ways of seeing outcomes, as well as honing his aim.

Why should I learn this at all? Will asked after one day of especially difficult and exhausting training. I’m not about to lay siege anywhere and I’m certainly not going to be defending a stronghold any time soon.

True, Rafe answered, but the king’s assize has made it law. You may never use this skill, by your own intent, but it is always better to know something than not to know it.

Rafe picked up his own bow, a heavy brace of yew over six feet. He brought up a three-foot arrow and set it, his index finger resting on it, his middle and ring fingers a hair below the arrow that lay just above the leather grip. Remember to lay your body in the bow and not to draw with the strength of your arms only. That will increase its power. He released the arrow. It sailed out of sight and they began to walk toward its general direction.

You have a collection of bows in all the sizes needed from your childhood as you’ve grown, he said to Will. You’re tall enough. Another year and you can have one like mine. Men need to be brought up to it if they are to shoot well.

You’ve made sure of that with me, Will acknowledged. You always surprise me. Where did you learn this? Aren’t priests supposed to advise peace, not attack?

So I do. There is one thing you have to remember. Strength lies in knowing a skill and choosing to use it—or not use it—with good intent. It’s far and away better for you to be aware of what your enemies have learned than to be ignorant of it. Otherwise, you set yourself up for traps, both in mind and body. How did you end up in deMobray’s nice little prison? You were not prepared for his lies or the betrayal of your friend Tanner. You trusted everyone. That is noble, but not wise. You do need to be able to trust the ability of your body to protect you—not to do harm, just to ensure your own safety.

That’s an argument allowing war to thrive. If we’re prepared for it, it will come. It always does!

Rafe stopped walking and stared at his nephew. Very true! And a lesson I planned for you quite a bit later. It’s an enigma we’ll have to sort out.

There’s your arrow, Will said. He picked it up and handed it over.

Now we’ll count the way back and see how far I’ve sent it. The next practice, you can send your own arrow to a greater distance.

Will counted almost two hundred yards. I’ll be hard-pressed to do better, he said with a smile.

I’m too old for the distance I once knew. I can’t get the draw on the bow as I used to. But you can. Keep the goal in mind. It is not uncommon for a skilled archer to send an arrow three hundred yards and I’ve seen some manage more. So will you.

As they walked back to the monastery courtyard the bells began to ring.

It’s nearly dark and I must go to Vespers, Rafe said, pulling his Book of Hours from the pocket of his robe. We’ll meet again two days from now, but you’ll practice on your own tomorrow, yes?

Without fail, Will said. Before you go, tell me, why did you choose the name Father Eadmer when you entered the church? I asked my mother and she said only you could explain that one.

So I will, but not now. Suffice it to say my namesake wrote histories and was interested most of all in writing about the truth of his world as it seemed to be in front of him, and not imagine its past, about which he could know nothing in fact. I must hurry.

With that Rafe vanished into the cloisters. Will surveyed the buildings before him. He always loved to come there for the sessions with his uncle or to attend, sometimes, one of the services. They held a mystery that appealed to him, though not enough to entice him into the order of the Benedictines. Still, he knew no other place that gave him such a sense of peace and rightness in the world.

He adjusted the baldric for his sword, and attached the quiver of arrows to his belt. Once home he could leave the weapons and devote his attention to the fields and forest that he loved so much more. An image of Gwendolen came to mind as he walked the path to their manor, of when she had seen him at practice one day. She wanted to learn the skill of archery herself, as well as the sword. He smiled in recollection. Her enthusiasm that day had far outweighed his own. With his mother’s permission Rafe had begun her training but not in the weapons, which were too heavy for her, to her massive chagrin. Instead he taught her arts of fighting he had learned in his travels to the East, which he called a form of dance. Will had never seen the practice sessions and Gwendolen wouldn’t show him any part of it yet. When I am very good at it, I’ll show you, she would say.

His uncle was a mystery. What had he done on those journeys of his? He was versed in more than one skill that few if any of the other monks possessed. According to Roana Nash, Father Eadmer was one person, and Rafe another, though she still wouldn’t explain. What Will knew was that as the appointed healer among the monks his uncle seemed to work miracles. Whether someone had broken a bone or suffered the bite of a viper, Rafe as Father Eadmer seemed to effect a quick recovery for them. His plants and syrups and oils were all useful and the shed where he created his various medicines and ointments and potions was a fascinating place to spend time. Yet his healing, Will suspected, had other aspects that were unseen. In this he saw a kinship between Rafe and his mother. They both understood how to bend the intangible to their will.

Deep in thought Will had paid little mind to his surroundings. All of a sudden he was aware of the smell of smoke. Alarmed, he checked the landscape. A small plume of smoke rose out of the forest to the left of the path. It was not quite full night but dark enough to keep him out of sight. As he moved closer he heard voices and it was then he realized where he was. It was a camp. Soldiers were gathered around a fire and it looked as if they had just consumed their evening meal. Several were waving tankards of what had to be ale in rhythm to a song being played on a lute. The musician was very good, Will thought. It occurred to him that he had the perfect opportunity to carry out his mother’s wish, but he was afraid. They would realize in an instant that he was too young and not one of them. Still, he had promised, and his mother had told him not to worry, in return.

He took a deep breath and walked forward.

Who goes there? someone called out, and the whole group jumped up with swords ready.

He stepped into the firelight and spoke with as much authority as he could manage.

Will Nash. I saw your fire. I’m hungry. As a traveler I ask for some food.

Well, Will Nash, where have you come from? One man approached him, though keeping some distance.

I’m on my way to the sheriff’s manor. I’m hoping it is near.

You’re seven miles from it, said another soldier who leaned over and threw a large piece of wood on the fire, sending embers up into the night.

He looks the part, Owen, said another. Full weapons, bow and sword both.

True enough. Answer our questions well and you can have what food is left, said the man named Owen who stood facing him.

Will took a seat on a flat stone close to the fire. The others sheathed their swords and sat back down as well. No one seemed to view him as an enemy, despite the fact he was a stranger. Will could only assume that was part of his mother’s assurance for his sake. In the camp they won’t detect who you really are, she had promised.

So, what is your business with the sheriff? asked Owen, who was the apparent leader, though the other men had free speech.

Will looked around the circle. He needn’t have been concerned he was too young. Several there looked to be his own age.

I was told to join the sheriff’s guards.

Told? Who told you?

That gave him pause. Who could he name? It came to him and he almost smiled at his own quick thinking.

Edmund deMobray himself.

On what grounds? What would he want with someone as young as you for protection?

Not me. He has a liking for my mother and so wishes to encourage her by giving me the chance at high service.

You don’t hesitate to give a reason that rings true. Well done. I like that. DeMobray’s guards are very proficient with their weapons, we hear. They will surely test you. If you fail, it could mean death. How would that set with your mother? Your sheriff’s cause would be defeated in an instant.

All the soldiers laughed. One of them circled the group pouring out more ale from the cask.

He’s your sheriff, too, Will countered.

That he is, now, but we’ve never laid eyes on the man. We are here to earn our fee and once we have, we leave.

You’re not soldiers of the Court?

Not unless your king chooses to pay us for the privilege, Owen said, and again the group broke out in laughter.

Where are you from? Will asked, curious. He had heard the odd lilt in their voices from the outset, but had no way to place it. It occurred to him that his uncle would probably know the source if he were there.

The other side of the sea, aren’t we, called out a soldier facing him across the fire. His hair was as red as the flames.

And next across the steppes. Or into the deltas, or maybe up on the summit of a mountain. Wherever we’re called, said a soldier sitting on Will’s right.

Wherever we’re paid, corrected Owen. Most of us here have traveled the world. What about you?

I’ve never left this place, Will said, and it wasn’t hard to sound regretful. Their words gave him pause. He had never gone beyond the borders of Genthor. His mother’s journeys were not the same thing. Here were men who had seen places he had only heard about or imagined. It seemed to him in listening to them that he felt a loss he hadn’t felt before.

Well, there’s time yet. Maybe you’d like to come with us once we are all done with protecting this frightened sheriff. If you pass our tests, that is.

Confusion entered Will’s mind. It had become obvious that they had accepted him. Yet how would he be able to convince them of skills he didn’t have?

What tests? he asked.

Why, the same as the sheriff’s guards will ask, that you can be sure. Consider us your preparation, Owen said, and yet again the group laughed with delight.

Jamin, why don’t you give our friend Will here a demonstration of your skill with the sword? Owen beckoned to one of the younger men in the circle.

Jamin stood up and walked to a cleared space just visible in the firelight. He drew his sword from its case attached to his waist on his left side, worn the way a knight would.

You’re a knight? Will said, knowing it couldn’t be true. The class of knights didn’t spend their time in groups. They were notorious for choosing to go their own way, and made a poor army, and generally poorer leaders. Or so his uncle had told him.

No, said Jamin, his voice containing an accent unfamiliar to Will. I’m a foot soldier, like you. I just took this sword from one I killed. He held the weapon with both hands. He didn’t pay his army and so they chose not to protect him. He slashed the sword through the air in several violent moves. In his last swing he took three steps forward and the point of the sword was inches from Will’s face.

In reflex Will brought up his own weapon but there he had no leverage against the other man.

I can’t do that, Will said. There was no use his pretending. They could see for themselves. With Rafe he had practiced a form of fencing, feinting attacks. There had as yet been nothing like the power of Jamin’s thrust in their training routines.

A truth teller again, Owen said. Explain it to him, he said to Jamin.

Gladly. Jamin sheathed his sword. You watched me but you didn’t see, he told Will. When I approached you attempted to parry my move. That is reaction. What you want to do is anticipate what I am going to do. Look at your stance. You have your weight on one foot and it takes you out of balance, which in turn takes away your strength. Not only that, my sword is heavy. There is little you could have done to stop me once I had begun to swing at you. Remember that. It is better to get out of the way.

However, Jamin continued, if I have a weapon that matches your own, the rules change. He turned and gestured to one of the men, who handed him another sword, the length of which matched Will’s own. It was wide, straight and double-edged with a plain cross hilt.

What are the rules? Will asked.

Yet again the circle of men laughed. One of them leaned in toward the fire so Will could see his face more clearly. He was clean-shaven and wore his hair long, nearly down to his waist in a long black braid.

There are no rules. That is the rule, he said.

They were mocking him. Before his arrest Will doubted he’d have realized that, but he had seen the behavior of the crowd, become familiar with the apparent delight others could take in seeing someone vulnerable and at risk.

You’re a proud lot, aren’t you, he said. You must be stretched to find entertainment in playing with someone like me. Perhaps because you are men who fight for money, you don’t know how to act with courtesy and dignity.

The group went silent. Will felt his heart beating fast and wondered if they could hear it as well. The sound filled his brain. In all his life he had not felt such fear as he had in that moment.

You’re a freeholder, Owen said finally, and speak like someone accustomed to fair behavior. That’s naïve, but you show courage saying it to us. All men fight for money. If we took offense, we might decide to—

Cut off your head! a voice called out, and the rest of the circle, Owen included, seemed to find the idea hilarious.

How old are you? Owen asked.

Sixteen, Will said, and he stood straighter. If they meant him harm he had no way to defend himself against so many, but he wouldn’t shy away from anything. It was strange to him that his fear was gone. All he felt was a curious quiet energy in the center of his being, a sense that he was invulnerable, though he had no idea why or how he could sustain such a thought, given his circumstances.

Well, we need a demonstration of your skills if we are to release you. You do understand right now you’re our prisoner, and not a visitor who just happened to be passing by at nightfall? No one walks in the forest for fun after dark, now do they. So! There must be something you can show us that will provide even more entertainment, he said, grinning at the men around him.

Will felt the weight of his bow.

I am trained as an archer.

We can see your bow and the arrows you carry. How fast can you send the arrows? Well, that isn’t something we can test now. You’ll stay with us and give us show of your skill in the morning. If we like it, you can go on your way. If we don’t, we’ll make sure you meet up with the sheriff, I can promise you.

Will didn’t want to stay with them in the forest but he wanted less to meet with deMobray. He nodded and Owen directed him to a place between two other men who were twice his own weight and strength. Straw had been scattered there to give some protection from the ground.

In the morning, then, Owen said.

As if by a command someone moved forward and sat by the fire, guarding it, while the rest stretched out on hides and wrapped themselves in cloth, their faces hidden from the chill air. Will had the sudden feeling he had entered a place filled with ghosts. He sat for a while staring into the fire.

What had brought him there? Nothing but curiosity. A desire to fulfill his mother’s request. He had expected to do nothing more than observe what the men were about. He still knew nothing about them, yet they had already determined a great deal about him. What would he do in the morning when they required him to demonstrate his archer’s skill? Rafe had sent an arrow two hundred yards and told him he would do better in time, but that was the future. Now he had been able to reach a distance of one hundred twenty yards at the most.

He lay down. The air was cold and he had nothing to wrap himself in. In addition, they had given him nothing to eat or drink. He may as well be back in the castle cell, Will thought. The similarity both repulsed and amused him. What would his mother be thinking at his absence, he wondered. The snoring of the sleeping men grew softer. He had a feeling that these men would not harm him, though he didn’t know why not. With the thought, he fell asleep.

The smell of smoke and frying meat woke him. Everyone was gathered around the fire and eating. The food drew him into the group.

Our manners were forgotten last night, Owen said, and for a moment Will was afraid he would have to hear laughter again, but the men were too busy with their food. Owen handed him a piece of cooked ham and a flask of mead. Will finished both before he took his next breath. Owen did smile at that and handed him more of each.

We have enough. You can consume it at leisure.

For a while there was no conversation until everyone had finished eating. Again as if on command someone moved forward and began to clear the debris of the meal and this time, to put out the fire.

We leave within the hour, Owen said. It’s time you showed us your prowess as an archer, so we can decide what to do with you, he said, loud enough for all of them to hear. A cheer went up and the men went as one toward a clearing.

Harig! Owen said. One of those who had slept next to Will drew off a red scarf he wore and ran with it into the forest. When he returned, the scarf was gone. Owen led Will into the center of the clearing.

There. Do you see the branch with the red cloth covering it? Owen said, pointing in the direction that Harig had taken.

Will peered into the shadows of the forest. The sun had risen and sent dappled light through the trees. He couldn’t see anything red anywhere, and then he did. He didn’t need to walk the distance to know it was much farther than he had ever shot an arrow before, never mind that he had had limited experience hitting an actual target. Still, he had absorbed the training and Rafe had told him he was born to the skill. He would do his best, for his uncle and for his mother. That was all he could offer.

Will glanced at Owen and surveyed the men who stood nearby. In the daylight he could see the tenor of their faces, and noted that most seemed self-assured, relaxed. These were men who had already tested themselves many times. He doubted they were afraid of anything, or cared about anything beyond their own small band.

None of that could enter into his mind now, he thought. The training had focused on his ability to concentrate on the goal. He held his bow in his right hand and picked an arrow from his quiver, one with peacock feathers. As he lay it next to the bow he gave a short prayer of thanksgiving, as Rafe had requested he always do, and began the draw. The moment he did that Will forgot the people around him. It was always the same. In the motion of drawing his arm back before releasing the arrow he felt the tension increase and the strength of his arm required to match it. His mind became centered on nothing but the motions of his body as he lifted the arrow up slightly to gauge the arc he would need to hit the branch where the red scarf blew back and forth in the morning breeze. It was so small as to look like the flashing wing of a bird. He stayed a moment in the silence he felt inside him, in that centering of his energy, something that held force and stillness at once.

The sighting was clear to him, the draw was sufficient, and he leaned forward into the bow. The moment he released the arrow he felt a certainty he couldn’t explain. It would find its mark.

The men in the group were muttering among themselves. Everyone started to walk toward the target, pushing aside branches and trampling across the undergrowth. When they reached the tree they found the red scarf there and the arrow pinning it to the branch, a branch that was the circumference of a child’s arm.

Will had counted the steps as he walked with them. He kept his expression neutral, or hoped he did. The target was two hundred and fifty yards from the clearing, and he had shot the arrow into the smallest branch on the tree, into the heart of the red.

Owen turned to him, his eyes looking at him in a new light. We’ve underestimated you. I’ve underestimated you.

Harig approached him. You shoot with your left arm. Why?

Another man came near. Who makes your arrows?

Will answered him first. I do. My uncle taught me. He also taught me to use the bow.

He is a skilled teacher. Who is this uncle? asked Owen.

He’s a priest.

At his words Owen showed surprise, and something more Will couldn’t define. A priest? he repeated. A man of God who makes weapons?

My uncle has been in many places, and done many unusual things, Will said with enthusiasm and pride.

I wager, Owen said, his expression inward. He seemed distracted.

Tell me your uncle’s name.

Father Eadmer, answered Will.

I mean his real name, Owen said in a quiet voice.

For a moment Will hesitated, but it was common information. He had the feeling his uncle wouldn’t object at all.

Rafe. That’s his given name.

Hearing this, Owen slapped his hand against the tree and laughed in delight.

I never thought we’d cross paths again. Your uncle and I have fought together. Before he made the mistake of joining the brotherhood, we were like brothers ourselves. This is coincidence or fate. Where is Rafe, this uncle of yours?

He may not be the same man, Will said, worried he may have put his uncle in danger.

Owen understood his reaction. I’m telling you the truth, he said. There can’t be two men called Rafe who entered the priesthood and have an archer’s talent. Does he know the sword? I’m sure he does. We had some wonderful times. You’ve nothing to fear for his sake, he said. Seeing your uncle again will be the delight of my time on the sheriff’s estate.

Owen turned to the others. The sun is high enough. Clear the camp. We’re expected soon. And you, he said, turning back to Will, you should know that we are the sheriff’s guards recently hired and I doubt Edmund deMobray asked you to join us. Be careful what you say when you’re talking to strangers who may know how to take your measure faster than you can take theirs. He smiled again. Give your uncle my regards when you next talk with him. Tell him you’ve had words with Owen of Masson and that I say he has taught you as well as he taught me. Tell him he can expect to see me before we leave this territory.

With that he and the rest of the men picked up their supplies and weapons and walked away in the direction of Edmund deMobray’s manor.

Will watched them until they were out of sight. He had trouble believing any of what had happened had been real. Perhaps he had simply fallen asleep in the forest and dreamed it, but he knew otherwise. He also knew he had sent an arrow twice as far as he had ever done before. What would Rafe think of that? He adjusted the bow on his shoulder and the sword at his waist and looked up at the sun as he began to walk in the opposite direction from Owen and his band. It would be midday before he reached home.

CHAPTER 3: Virtual Worlds

In the forest of Aginmare one could get lost easily, her mother told her. There were no paths. It had always been the domain of the wild creatures who lived there. A river raced along with white rapids at every turn, and none could cross it. Clearings among the trees held soft grass that was brilliant green and the sound of the river was never far away, but none were there to hear it.

Some places are meant to be known only to those who respect them. The animals always understand this, Roana Nash said, but most people don’t. Whoever ventures into Aginmare, it is at her own risk. Inwardly she smiled. Nothing inspired Gwendolen more than the idea there was some uncertainty or hazard involved. From the beginning of her daughter’s training Roana Nash had known that the best lessons were ones Gwendolen could initiate herself. Yet with that there had to be sufficient preparation for what a new challenge would require. For months she had given her daughter lessons in peripheral seeing, requiring her to notice everything that was around her, and to give a description of it all in detail.

What the eyes see directly is often deceptive, she had told Gwendolen. We often perceive what we want to be there. It brings us comfort. But when you attempt to see in the periphery, much more shows itself.

Given her daughter’s natural impatience, that system of training had