What people say about Archer:

“Archer was amazing! I couldn't put it down, it only took me two days

to read it when it normally takes me a week. I know that there will be a

movie someday and I hope it's sooner rather than later!” DC

“Absolutely wonderful! Jacky Gray's beautiful story telling takes me

right to England! I loved it! I learned a few things about jousting and

archery. Exciting and wondrous. Can't wait to read the next one!” MB

“My mum was planning to read the book before I did but I insisted on

reading it first so she has to wait. So far your book has been one of the

best I've read in years. I'm looking forward to your next book.” AR

“I enjoyed 'Archer', an engaging story whose Pagan spirituality is gently and attractively presented. Jacky has produced a credible

parallel universe, in realistic and well realised settings.” RH

“Jacky has nailed the character of a medieval archer; the books are a

thrilling blend of action and rich historical detail.” KH “Anyone who promotes Archery in any of form is to be congratulated

in my book and I think somewhere along the way Jacky must have got

caught up in the sport judging by the passion of her writing”. JA

“Archer is fascinating and captivating! I love the way the characters,

scenes and general description of Archer's world are portrayed so

eloquently. Jacky Gray not only tells a wonderful tale; she manages to

capture the sounds, smells and emotional energies of his world.” SD

“I loved Archer so much. I can't explain how this book makes me feel,

thank you so much. I am reading Rory now - I am so glad to hear there

are other books 'coz I was thinking I want to read more.” SK

“Jacky Gray is a great writer. I have read Archer and could not put it

down – as the adventure unfolds it gets more gripping.” MW

“Archer is a tale spun in the days of the knights, but takes a different

twist than traditional knight’s tales. Ms. Gray brings to the reader a

new world filled with authentic traditional language, giving a sense of

travelling back in time. This is not a book filled with fluff and half

masked characters.” VH

Hengist: The People of the Horse

Archer

Jacky Gray

To Jo – without your constant encouragement, insight and

creativity, Archer wouldn’t be who he is

To Deb – for introducing me to a Magical world where

anything can happen if you believe it hard enough

This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events other than

those clearly in the public domain are the product of the author’s

imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is

purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2009 Jacky Gray

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Back cover picture Copyright © 2010 Karl Ude-Martinez

www.knightsofmiddleengland.com

Front cover & White Horse design Copyright © 2010 Anthony Askew

www.ant-askew.co.uk

First published in 2010 by Lulu

Second edition 2012

ISBN: 978-1-4475-4838-6

www.hengistarcher.co.uk

Table of Contents

Prologue ....................................................................................... 1

1 The Joust.................................................................................... 2

2 Final tilt ..................................................................................... 8

3 Glowing Arrows ...................................................................... 14

4 Sword and Buckler .................................................................. 23

5 Misfit ........................................................................................ 28

6 Moonflower ............................................................................. 33

7 Poison ...................................................................................... 38

8 Saviour..................................................................................... 43

9 Worthies................................................................................... 48

10 Robin Hood and Friends ....................................................... 54

11 Road Trip ............................................................................... 61

12 Open Arms ............................................................................. 66

13 Renegates ............................................................................... 69

14 William Tell ........................................................................... 74

15 Men of Honour ...................................................................... 77

16 Bowman ................................................................................. 81

17 Gaelic Sound ......................................................................... 87

18 Archer Son of Sedge .............................................................. 91

19 Archery Round ....................................................................... 48

20 Craft Round ........................................................................ 103

21 May King and Queen ........................................................... 111

22 The Garlanding ................................................................... 117

23 The Maypole ........................................................................ 122

24 Edlyn Stirs ........................................................................... 129

25 Clever Kayleigh ................................................................... 132

26 Where is Bow? ..................................................................... 136

27 Apprentice ........................................................................... 140

28 Singing Staves ...................................................................... 145

29 A Rare Talent ....................................................................... 148

30 The Enchantress .................................................................. 153

Epilogue.................................................................................... 160

Acknowledgements ........................................................................ i

Glossary........................................................................................ii

Main Festivals in the year ............................................................ v

Archer

i

Prologue

Archer had a problem. Not exactly life-threatening, but not a

good place to be. He had two alternatives. The trouble was, he was

damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. It wasn’t as if he had a

choice, it was a matter of honour, a duty he knew every single boy in

his class would be happy to carry out.

It was all about a girl. When wasn’t it all about a girl? He thought

back to when girls were just friends; that seemed a long time ago.

When you could like a girl, be friends with her and do things

together, without people getting worked up about it. People like his

mate Finn or the guys they hung out with. People like his foster

parents. But mostly, the two people he definitely didn’t want to

upset: his best mate Fletch and the girl herself, Bethia.

He had a few heartbeats to choose. Either he kissed her and

seriously annoyed his best friend or he didn’t kiss her and she would

be mortified and worse, publicly humiliated. It was not as if she

wasn’t kissable, exactly the opposite. Fletch had already made his

feelings known and if you believed him, she felt the same way.

Archer focussed on her pale green robe so he wouldn’t have to meet

her eyes. He could almost see the happy bubble of excitement that

surrounded her several moments earlier beginning to evaporate as

she sensed his reluctance.

How on earth had he got himself into this predicament? It wasn’t

exactly his fault, though there were many who would argue over that.

His thinking time ended as Malduc said his final chant over the

rowan cross. In Bethia’s eyes, Archer read the apprehension and the

faintest spark of hope. His decision was made.

1 The Joust

‘C’mon Archer, you can do it!’

‘Go for it Finn!’

Sitting astride his stallion Apollo, Archer grinned as people in the

crowd shouted encouragement. His grin widened as he spotted his

friends in the crowd; they were Finn’s friends too and obviously

didn’t know who to support. Some of them looked worried, but

Fletch didn’t care, holding up victory fists to both of them in turn.

Archer wiped away the moisture on his upper lip. He was not sure

whether it was the heat of the sun or the familiar thrill of blood

pumping through his veins roasting him in his armour.

‘Good luck, mate.’ Tybalt, Archer’s Second, held up his shield.

‘May the best man win.’

‘Man? Don’t you mean Junior?’ Inside, Archer was secretly

punching the air at the idea, as he slipped his gauntlet through the

shield straps and took the reins.

‘No, Archer. Today, you and Finn are men.’ Tybalt handed over

the lance, then, with an anxious look in Finn’s direction, walked

to the dais to prepare for the tributes.

Professor Niall, a senior trainer, had pronounced them the only

pair ready for the joust – all the other boys settled for the rings.

Looking down the tilt at his opponent, Archer’s heart surged with the

warmth of brotherhood. No, Finn was more than a brother, they did

not argue as siblings did.

Despite the intense heat, Archer shivered. This was not the same

as an ordinary practice. The enthusiasm of the crowd made it more

exciting than anything he had ever done in his life. The buzz of

excitement was affecting everyone – many moons of effort had gone

into the preparations for this day and people had travelled from miles

around to celebrate Beltane, the Festival of the May.

The shield weighed heavily on his arm, which still ached from the

hours spent waxing and polishing until the metal shone like a looking

glass. Noticing how it reflected the sun, he worried that this might

give an unfair advantage if it shone in Finn’s eye. As the glare from

his opponent’s shield dazzled him, Archer realised why Niall had

been so precise about the orientation of the tilt. Siting it

perpendicular to the sun’s path meant they would both be equally

disadvantaged.

Finn won the coin toss, electing that Archer’s tribute was first

because he knew people always remembered the last thing they

heard. The Senechal introduced the two Seconds.

Tybalt did a good job of supporting his friend. As a member of

the learned Magi clan, his speech was eloquent, but a little too

earnest. ‘Ladies and gents, boys and girls, I present to you the

splendid Archer, a true warrior of superlative courage and daring.

This squire is a veritable man of the horse,’ he paused at the round of

applause that greeted this statement.

Archer’s cheeks warmed at the exaggeration – horsemanship was

the only part of his training that did not feel natural.

Tybalt concluded, ‘He has remarkable skill with any and every

weapon and is a dutiful son and loyal friend.’

Archer tipped his lance at Tybalt and accepted the applause,

bowing at the cheers – not the easiest of things to do on horseback

with thirty pounds of metal weighing you down. He frowned as

Edlyn appeared on the dais with a shallow smirk and slow handclap.

Finn had no choice about using that snake as a Second, his mother

had insisted because of the blood ties. Finn was no mother’s boy, but

this event was much too important for him to disobey her wishes.

The clapping didn’t quite stop. Edlyn cleared his throat noisily.

‘A-hem. It is my pleasure, nay my absolute honour, to introduce to

you, one of Aveburgh’s best kept secrets. Squire Finnegan is truly a

champion of champions.’ Waving his arm in a grand gesture, he

continued, ‘No junior in this contest can touch him on the back of a

horse.’ He paused, obviously expecting a similar reaction to Tybalt’s

‘man of the horse’ comment. When it didn’t come, he carried on as

though it didn’t matter.

‘With the staff, he has the strength of a bear and his skill with a

sword would rival Hector himself. I give you, the people’s choice,

Squire Finn. Join me in going wild with delight.’ Catching Archer’s

eye with a smug wink, Edlyn bowed to Finn, clapping

enthusiastically and whistling. After a moment’s stunned silence, the

crowd did as he suggested.

Archer recognised his enemy’s mastery of rhetoric. He knew

Edlyn would take great pleasure that, due to his superb oratory skills,

the round of applause for Finn was louder and lasted much longer

than Archer’s.

A large cloud was creeping toward the sun, and the officials were

waiting for its cover even though both heralds had finished their

tributes some minutes ago. As the momentum from the big build up

was lost in the delay, Archer sensed that Apollo was getting restless.

Finally, the Seneschal took his place on the dais and an expectant

hush fell over the crowd.

‘Ladies and gents, juniors and children, please accept my

apologies for the stoppage.’ He gestured at the cloud, ignoring the

good-natured catcalls from the tightly-wound juniors, who were

desperate for the bout and needed to voice their frustration. Raising

his eyebrows until the silence returned, the Seneschal continued,

‘Contender Archer, are you set?’

Archer held up his lance, pointing to the sky.

‘Contender Finn, are you set?’

Finn echoed the move with his lance.

‘You will both begin on my horn.’ As they readied their weapons

to the starting position, he raised an ivory horn to his lips and blew.

The horses exploded into action as they were trained, no touch of

spurs was required from either rider. There was nothing like the thrill

of the first pass – both riders had a clean score sheet, so in theory

they both had the same chance of winning. Adrenaline surged

through their veins, blinding them to all other sights and smells. All

except the tip of the weapon coming toward them and the pungent

aroma of horse mingled with their own sweat. The sounds of the

crowd became a muffled roar against the thunder of blood pounding

in their ears. As they sprinted, the training took over and instinct

came into play. Everything they had rehearsed became real, do-or-

die action.

The two friends had practised together for several years, so they

each knew the other’s strengths and weaknesses. Archer knew that

Finn’s mastery of his steed Artemis was so complete that he could

easily bring off the dangerous ‘side-hang’ manoeuvre to avoid the tip

of an opposing weapon. Also, that he was just as likely to wait until

the instant before impact before making his move. Finn wouldn’t

care that the high speed would affect his balance, putting him at

greater risk, he thrived on danger. He also knew that Archer’s

legendary skill with weapons was diminished on horseback.

Although a competent rider by most people’s standards, Archer

was fully aware that he didn’t have Finn’s gift of becoming a part of

the horse, attuned to every nuance of movement as though their

bodies and minds were connected. Archer was not confident with the

trickier techniques used by more experienced warriors to delight the

crowds. His opponent would be expecting just a shoulder roll, more

subtle but less effective at reducing the impact.

Archer didn’t disappoint him. As their mounts were less than a

couple of paces apart, he rolled his left shoulder, craftily aligning the

shield so that it presented a shallower target to Finn’s weapon. He

had this idea in training, however he knew there was a strong

possibility of facing his friend, so he kept it to himself. It worked.

Finn’s lance was deflected and he was so surprised by the novel

strategy that he lost concentration long enough for Archer to make a

direct hit on his shield. The tip shattered, giving him two points and

the crowd showed their delight by clapping and stamping.

Someone started a chant; he couldn’t hear the words apart from

the final, victorious ‘Archer’.

Finn dipped his lance in defeat as they trotted back to the judge to

show the extent of the damage. The lances were designed with two

stress sites to reflect the strength of the collision and so the courage

of the contestants. At a normal speed, only the fragile pottery tip

would shatter. If a bigger impact was produced by a faster charge or

stronger thrust, the length of wood immediately behind the tip,

known as the crumple, would disintegrate, earning more points.

A second wave of noisy appreciation from the crowd

acknowledged Archer’s marque on the scoreboard.

Tybalt was ecstatic, slapping Archer’s lower leg enthusiastically.

‘Well done, that was truly inspired. Did Niall teach you that trick?’

‘Actually, I worked it out for myself.’ Archer grinned at Tybalt’s

back-handed compliment, suggesting it was a strategy worthy of a

champion such as their trainer. Taking the lance from his enthusiastic

Second, Archer looked over at Finn who was not impressed by the

first pass. The joust was Finn’s best event and he needed a high score

to get through to the next round.

Archer was not, however, prepared for just how unimpressed his

friend was. The second pass flashed by in an instant. At the

horn, Finn charged like a demon, thrusting his lance at the

approaching chest plate hard enough to leave a dent. Archer rocked

back in his saddle, but there was no real danger of being unhorsed.

There was a collective intake of breath from the crowd who had the

scent of six points for a dismount, but he raised his lance to show

that he was still a viable contender. When they met at the centre, it

was Archer’s turn to dip his lance. Finn seemed concerned, raising

the visor of his helmet as he lowered his voice. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘It’ll take more than that little tickle to worry me. Is that your best

effort?’ Archer raised his visor with a grin so his friend could see

that he was solid.

Finn’s crumple had smashed into tiny pieces, giving him four

points. Archer’s lance was intact. The crowd stood to show their

appreciation as the boys returned to their stations.

This time, they took the full five minutes to recover. Their

Seconds offered skins of water and checked that none of the straps or

buckles had come undone in the violent collision. Finally, at the

time-out signal, they presented the fresh lances. Archer took his,

grateful that it was the junior version, several feet shorter and only

half the weight of the full battle weapon. Although he was fit and

strong, he felt the toll of the first two bouts and was glad that this

was to be the last.

Then it came to him. Finn was of slighter build and never quite

matched him in the strength and endurance exercises during training,

especially in the strength and endurance exercises. He had

probably put everything into that second pass, knowing that he

would have little left for the final tilt. The third Warrior, Beorn had

done well in the rings, scoring seven points, so Finn would need at

least another four points to go through to the next round. His sword-

work was excellent, but his accuracy on the archery range could be

erratic, particularly when he was tired. As the Seneschal went

through his speeches, Archer was furiously working out whether he

could still go through if he allowed Finn to unhorse him.

Common sense prevailed in the end. No matter how good a friend

Finn was, it would not be honourable or fair to either of them, if he

deliberately conceded the pass. There was only one thing Archer

could do, what his years of training had instilled. Play to win. With a

silent prayer for strength and courage, he gave a light touch to

Apollo’s flank and held his breath for the charge.

2 Final tilt

Afterwards, Niall said it was the most incredible tilt he’d ever

seen from two juniors, akin to experienced warriors. High praise

indeed. Archer realised he had completely misjudged Finn, which

was evidently his friend’s tactic. Shaking his head in admiration, he

thought about the number of times in the past few months that he had

bested Finn in training. Or rather that Finn had allowed himself to be

bested in training. There was no doubt in the minds of anyone who

watched, that they were the cream of the current crop of juniors.

Most of those people, if asked to choose between them, would have

said that Archer had the edge in all three tourney sports. What a

hoaxer! He replayed the tilt in his mind.

The gentle touch had spurred Apollo on to a greater speed than

Archer had ever known. For the first time in his life, he experienced

something of what Finn must feel every time he rode. There was joy,

exhilaration and an unspoken bond between him and Apollo. It was

the biggest feeling he had ever experienced, as though he was

invincible. The lance in his hand became an extension of who he

was. Although he felt no desire to harm his friend, for a thousandth

part of a second, he was no longer aware of the fact that he was

racing towards another boy. All he could see in front of him was a

target, like the shield on the quintain. A target he had to hit and then

duck out of the way before the sandbag attached to the other end

spun round and hit him in the back of the head, knocking him off his

saddle.

Everything about Finn, from his posture, to the look on his face

before he lowered his visor, told Archer that the opponent facing him

was no weakling, beaten down by fatigue and intimidated by a

stronger warrior. Just as Tybalt had said, in that fleeting instant, they

were as men, and the man coming toward him at full pelt was his

equal. Neither was prepared to give any quarter, spurring their horses

on to faster speeds, as they lined up the figure in front of them in

their sights. As he re-lived the moment of impact in his mind, Archer

realised that it wasn’t just the blood lust ringing in his ears that

deafened him to the crowd; a deathly hush had fallen as they

recognised the ruthlessness of the spectacle before them. To anyone

who did not appreciate the true solidarity of their friendship, it must

have looked like a real grudge match.

The collision was a moment of perfect science; two unstoppable

objects meeting with irresistible force. Both contenders had

recognised the other’s resolve and tightened the shield to their

bodies, adding a layer of protection. Both lances hit the shields in

perfect unison, singing a song of smashing earthenware and

splintering timber. Both shields were slammed into chest plates,

rocking the challengers back in their saddles. Both lances were

wrenched out of gauntlets, curving great arcs through the sky that

had the awe-struck Seconds running to recover them. Neither horse

could stop until they reached the end of the tilt, and even a few paces

after that. After the final halt, they turned and took a slow canter

back to the centre, retrieving their lances to present to the judge.

As they waited for the judgement, Archer gritted his teeth against

the grin that tried to slide onto his face. The grin that tore his pride to

shreds. To think that he had even considered throwing the fight so

Finn could remain in the contest. The impulse was too strong and he

let loose a full-bodied belly laugh. What a player! Finn looked over

and his lips twitched, then he joined in. They were both roaring with

mirth as the marques went up on each side of the scoreboard. Archer

now had six points, Beorn had seven and Finn eight. Only two of

them however, could go through from the sporting round.

The next event was the girls’ javelin. Historically, all girls had

done the javelin and all boys the rings, a horseback event where rings

were collected on the end of a lance. Recently, however, there had

been pressure from the more progressive families and the council had

been forced to take a vote on it. The result was a choice, the boys

chose between joust or rings and the girls could do rings or javelin.

Malduc, the leader of the village council, had shaken his head,

muttering that they wouldn’t be satisfied until the girls were jousting.

This year only the Warrior girls had chosen the rings so the Magi and

Outil girls were lined up to show their prowess with the javelin.

Archer was keen to lend his support to Patricia and Chrisya, not

just because they were friends, but because they were the least likely

sporting candidates of all the juniors in their clan. He had come

across them one day, practising in the woods.

~*~

‘What are you two doing out here? Haven’t you heard about the

Renegates?’ He was teasing, he knew they would have heard the

tales of the fierce bandits who lived in the woods and preyed on the

villagers.

Patricia angrily pushed the hair back from her face. ‘Of course we

have, but we can defend ourselves.’ She threw her branch in his

direction, but it travelled only a few feet.

He picked it up, grinning. ‘You’d be better off improving your

running, it’s the best weapon you girls have.’

‘Not exactly. We could always beat them off.’ As she spoke,

Chrisya swung her stick at him. She underestimated his ability to

anticipate any kind of threat. Catching it easily in one hand, he used

the momentum of it to trap her against him.

‘Let her go you brute.’ Patricia waded in to rescue her friend.

With little exertion, he had them both captive despite their

struggles. ‘Do you yield? You will only wear yourselves out if you

keep that up.’

‘Never!’ They both renewed their efforts, but he held them easily

for a few moments before suddenly releasing them in a heap on the

floor.

‘There was no need for that.’ Chrisya was annoyed.

‘Apparently there was.’ He grinned to take the sting out of his

words, then adopted a serious tone. ‘If I could trap you that easily,

what chance would you stand against half a dozen grown men?’

Chrisya was about to say more, but her friend caught her arm. ‘He

is right. After that story Finn told us about the Renegates, I have

spent every moment watching over my shoulder.’

‘Thank you Patricia, at least one of you has some sense. I don’t

understand why you would take such a risk. Don’t you get enough

training at lehren? You should take a rest in your free time.’

‘You can take a rest; it all comes easily to you.’ Chrisya’s tone

was bitter as she muttered, ‘you have no idea how useless we are in

sporting lessons.’

‘It might look as though it comes easily, but I practise hard to

improve my skills.’

‘That is the problem. We are so useless that the trainer does not

bother with us anymore. He spends his lesson time helping people

who show some promise.’ Patricia’s comment worried Archer - it

was not like her to criticise anything, especially not the lehren they

would all attend until their eighteen birthday.

Chrisya was happy to find faults. ‘It’s as though we embarrass

him because we can’t learn and it makes him look bad.’

‘Who, professor Niall? I can’t believe that.’

‘I do not think it is his fault,’ said Patricia, ‘there are too many in

the non-Warrior groups and we all need a lot of help.’

Archer could not fault her logic. Since they were prepared to put

in extra hours outside of the normal training to better themselves, he

reasoned that it couldn’t be wrong if he helped them because the

adult trainer was unavailable.

After a couple of sessions improving their basic self-defence

skills, they began by throwing sticks of the right length and weight.

As their techniques improved, he made several javelins – his talent

for whittling proved useful.

The evenings were rapidly drawing in after the harvest festival at

Herfest, and it was harder to schedule the practices. By the time they

finished helping to bring in the crops there was very little daylight

left. Archer devised a solution. He persuaded the professor to allow

the Warrior boys and girls to assist the non-Warriors during the

Beltane preparations. Niall was happy as the other juniors received

more individual instruction to improve their defence skills.

When Patricia and Chrisya got through the preliminary rounds to

be named as two of the nine Worthies for Beltane, they approached

Archer in a great panic. ‘Please can you help us? We will not stand a

chance against girls like Kayleigh and Lexie.’

‘You won’t have to try. The three Warrior girls compete only

against each other. It’s the same with the three Outils and the three

Magi.’

‘So we only compete against girls with similar skills.’

‘Exactly. And the two with the highest scores from each group go

through. It’s fairer that way.’

‘Except that Bethia’s really good with the bow.’ Chrisya

frowned. ‘Especially since Fletch has been giving her extra training

most days.’

‘And Finn.’ Patricia was defensive as she explained her assertion,

‘He seems to spend more time with her at practice than with

everyone else put together.’

‘You think so?’ Archer had not noticed. ‘That’s a bit unfair on the

rest of you.’

‘And what we have been doing is not unfair?’

‘True. So you won’t need my help then.’ There was a twinkle in

Archer’s eyes. He loved to bait Patricia, her responses were so

rewarding. She did not disappoint him, her eyes widened and he

caught a glimpse of sheer panic.

‘No, I mean yes.' She took a calming breath. 'Archer, you love to

torment us.’ She slapped his arm so hard he almost regretted the

tease.

‘Ow. I don’t help girls who hit me.’ He rubbed the site

vigorously.

Chrisya moved his hand and stroked the reddening skin, mocking

him with, ‘My poor babe, shall I kiss away the pain?’

‘Will you two stop flirting?’ Patricia was not impressed. ‘We

have to sort out some extra training sessions.’

Chrisya pouted. ‘When? Lehren doesn’t finish until an hour

before sundown and we have chores to do then.’

‘If you could find some excuse to skip your chores, we could

practise for that hour.’

‘My mother will be happy with anything that might give me a

chance to win.’ Patricia was obviously embarrassed. ‘She was runner

up in her Beltane.’

‘My mother doesn’t think I stand any chance.’

‘How can you say that? Isn’t she proud of you for getting this

far?’ Archer raised a surprised eyebrow.

‘Oh yes, it’s not that.’ Chrisya blushed as she defended her

mother. ‘She thinks I’d be all right if the sporting round wasn’t first.

Last time she watched me throw the javelin I was no good, but that

was before all your hard work.’ She looked down at the floor and her

cheeks burnt even hotter. ‘It’s good of you to help us Archer, but

we’re taking up so much of your time. I think you’d rather be with

Finn and Fletch.’

‘She is right, we really are grateful. Is there anything we can do

for you in return?’

Archer looked at them, feeling uncomfortable under their eager

scrutiny. He was about to protest that he was more than happy to

help them, when a terrible thought struck him. ‘Actually girls, there

is something you could do for me …’

3 Glowing Arrows

‘No Chrisya, how many times must I tell you? Your feet and hips

must start off perpendicular to the target. Then you turn your front

foot slightly towards it.’ With a sigh of exasperation, he corrected

her stance. Standing just behind the mark, he pulled her into the

correct position, then bent down and turned her knee out, maybe a

little less gently than the last ten times. She was giggling and he

began to regret agreeing to help them. ‘Look, there’s nothing funny

about this. If you can’t take it seriously, we might as well forget it.’

Chrisya looked apologetic. ‘Sorry Archer, I told you at the start,

I’m rubbish at this. I need to have a verse or something to help me

remember it all.’

Patricia had a go. ‘How about this? Hips to side, left foot front,

left arm front, nock the arrow, right arm bent, elbow to ear, tilt the

bow… I cannot remember the rest.’

Archer went through the verse step-by-step, matching his actions

to the words. ‘Actually, that’s not bad. Looks like someone taught

you well.’

Both girls giggled as they worked out what he meant and this

time he didn’t mind as it was his jest. He relaxed; the girls were quite

amusing when they were giggling with him instead of at him. They

had worked hard and were making some progress. At the end of the

practice they went to the librarie as usual, to help each other with

their studies for the knowledge questions.

As they left the librarie, Archer asked if they still remembered the

verse they’d worked out during out the earlier session. They each

grabbed one of his arms and did a silly dance as they walked, in time

to the words.

‘What’s this Archer? Practising for your victory dance at

Beltane?’ a smooth voice sneered from behind them. They turned to

see Edlyn, flanked by Melvyn and Beorn.

Straightening up, Patricia used the same haughty tone her mother

used when faced with a situation that was not being handled to her

satisfaction. ‘What we are doing is none of your business. Archer

needs no practice; he will dance as well as he does everything else.’

Edlyn and his companions mimicked her tone and gestures,

exaggerating them to the point of ridicule.

Archer closed his eyes briefly against the exasperation he felt. It

was exactly the wrong thing to say to the arrogant bully. Fixing

Edlyn with a bland stare, he tried to put as much civility as he could

muster into his tone. ‘It’s no secret; we were studying for the Beltane

knowledge. I’m sure you don’t need any extra practice for that.’

‘Obviously not. But these dullards,’ he nodded at his companions,

‘need all the help they can get, and who better to instruct them?’

‘I cannot think.’ With a nod, Archer turned and the girls stayed

close. He was sure their deathlike grip was not out of fear, but

concern at the boy’s reputation for causing trouble. Although he

would have willingly fought to protect them or defend their honour,

Archer was glad they did not have to witness anything ugly.

There was no sign of anyone following them during their next

few sessions. Despite this, Archer made sure that they no longer met

at the same time or place from that day onwards. The girls thought

that he was being over cautious, but they had never experienced the

lengths to which Edlyn would go in his quest for supremacy. It

became easier to train as the nights grew lighter; however, they had

to miss several meetings because of the preparations for Ostara. With

Patricia’s little verse, they had both mastered the necessary stance

and rhythm of the shoot, but no matter how he tried, he could not

communicate to them the essence of the aim.

‘I don’t understand. How can you possibly just feel the centre of

the target?’ Chrisya was perplexed.

‘You mean the gold.’ Patricia was keen to show off her

knowledge.

Archer smiled at her. ‘Or the bull. I can’t explain it, that’s just

what happens to me. I don’t look at it, I feel it.’

‘What do you mean you do not look at the bull? If that were true,

you could do it with your eyes closed.’

‘Obviously I must glance at the target to know what direction it’s

in, but after that...’ he shrugged. ‘I’m not focussing on where it is; I

just imagine the tip of my arrow flying towards the gold. It takes a

few moments for my body to settle down, for my muscles to adjust

and know the path. Once they do, I could close my eyes. Possibly.’

They looked at him in disbelief. He sighed and tried to explain it

further. ‘It’s as though I think the arrow from my bow to the target. If

I don’t believe it will hit, then it will miss. Every time. If I don’t get

my breathing just right, it will miss. Every time. Or at the very least,

it won’t go exactly where I want it to go.’

He looked at the bow in his hand as though surprised it was there.

‘That’s it. The bow becomes like a part of my body – an extension of

my mind. I’m not aiming with my body or my arm or the arrow; I’m

aiming with my mind.’

It was probably the longest speech he had ever made and he was

uncomfortably aware that they were staring at him, reflecting his

passion with dazed expressions, as though his words had put them in

a trance.

The sharp cracking of a twig broke the spell and without thinking,

Archer whirled round and loosed an arrow at the sound. It was an

instinctive reflex, the exact opposite of everything he had been

talking about. There was no calm deliberation, no steadying of the

breath or blending of the mind and target; he simply shot at the

sound with pure instinct. Loading a second arrow as he ran, he

cursed the distraction that had overcome his training. How often did

Niall remind them to secure the target before loosing? Now he

finally understood why. It was obvious there was no danger and he

was thankful to see that it wasn’t a boy writhing in agony but a small

grey squirrel. The second arrow went through its head and it stopped

moving.

He turned, drawing the girls away from the disturbing sight.

Neither girl was too delicate to withstand the death of a small

creature, but he didn’t want to upset the mood he had created. The

next half hour saw the best shots they had ever made, both girls were

inspired by his fervour and keen to try his method for themselves. He

knew it was tiring, so he limited the session, finishing early.

‘So if you will not let us practise with the bows, you will have to

practise with the bows.’ Patricia was quite proud of her jest and bent

double to make it clear.

He groaned, dreading this part of the training session. ‘Look, I

know I asked you to teach me to dance, but I only meant the basic

rules and a couple of steps for the maypole dance. I don’t want to be

a spirit dancer.’

‘That is quite enough of that. You are giving us the best possible

javelin and archery training. The least we can do is to instruct you in

the vine and the box.’

One of the reasons Archer felt so uncomfortable was the amount

of physical contact these dances required. They were all about

holding hands, crossing arms and spinning the girl into what they

delighted in calling the embrace. This was like a mother’s hug, fine

when you’re five years old, or maybe eight, but not at his age.

‘Oh come on now Archer, how many times must I tell you? Cross

right, swing left, cross right. No, behind, that’s it.’ Chrisya was

pleased to get her own back.

‘You have to visualise a grapevine, twisting around itself.’

Patricia was much gentler in her approach.

‘I did that, but a grapevine goes the same way each time. I’ll

never get this, it’s far too complicated.’

‘Yes you will; it’s just a matter of co-ordination. Look, I’ll stand

here and you do the exact opposite.’

‘Fine.’

Except that Chrisya stood behind to emphasise the moves,

tapping the correct leg with her bow every time he went wrong or

hesitated.

‘Ow, you didn’t have to do it that hard.’

‘Yes I did, it’s like training dogs. The pain helps your brain make

the right choice.’

‘Maybe you should be beating the wrong leg then.’

‘Beating? I was hardly touching you. Stop being such a girl.’

‘Who are you calling a girl?’ He spun round and growled at her,

but she knew that you didn’t bait a bear without a clear escape plan.

She dodged behind the trees as he chased her. Running back, she

cowered behind Patricia, squealing with laughter as she begged,

‘Save me, save me Tricia. The big bad monster’s after me.’

Patricia did not look the slightest bit amused, saying coldly, ‘You

made your cot, now you have to lie in it.’

Her tone sobered Archer’s mood and he looked suitably penitent.

‘I can’t see any of us learning much more tonight. It’ll be dark soon,

we should be getting back.’ As they headed home, he outlined his

idea for the last stage of their training; something he thought would

help their accuracy with both javelin and archery. They both agreed

it would be tricky to set up but possible.

They picked Wodensday for the special session as the meeting

to plan the Beltane celebration would keep most people off the

streets.

‘What did your parents say about you coming out after dark?’

Archer could not believe they’d both made it.

‘As soon as I said it was special training for the Worthies, they

were happy to let me go.’ Patricia raised her eyes to the heavens.

‘Mother was worried about me being out so late, but I told her it

would only work in the dark.’

‘And she agreed?’

‘When I mentioned you would be there, she seemed happier, but

then she said people were starting to notice how much time we are

spending together.’

Hiding his embarrassment, Archer turned to Chrisya. ‘You’re

quiet. What did your mother say?’

She shrugged, with a defiant toss of her hair. ‘She doesn’t know.

What would be the point in worrying her? She’s at the meeting with

father, so I said I’d have an early night. I put a cushion in my cot so

if they get back before me they’ll think I’m asleep.’

Archer wasn’t happy about her deception. It was a bad omen, so

he sent up a quick prayer to protect the girls. He wasn’t expecting

trouble, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

The girls sat on a log with lanterns illuminating their slates. He

instructed them to sketch the motion of the arrows in order to

understand the path of their flight.

After explaining, Archer walked into the darkness where he’d

marked a start line. Smiling at their gasps from the first of his special

arrows, he loosed the next two in quick succession while the imprint

of the first was still glowing in their eyes. He was proud of his

invention and as he walked over to see what they had learned, their

reaction gave him great satisfaction.

‘That was wondrous. How did you do it?’ Chrisya examined a

spare arrow, marvelling at the way it glowed in the dark.

‘Archer, you truly are a wizard. These make it so clear. I finally

understand what you have been trying to explain.’ Patricia went on to

describe how the angle affected the height of the arrow and the

distance it travelled.

‘Exactly. What have you learnt from that?’

‘That I should not aim straight at the bull, but slightly above it

and the arrow will fall in the edge of a circle. Is it the arch?’

‘Good.’ The girls were concentrating on their slates and did not

notice the slight hesitation or his eyes narrowing while he listened to

an alert from the portion of his brain on sentry duty. Gathering the

remaining arrows, Archer continued smoothly, ‘Not quite the arc of a

circle, but it is close enough.’

Not wanting to be left out, Chrisya said, ‘And the angle changes

with how far away the target is.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Is that

why you fire a practice arrow first?’

‘Yes. We call it “getting the eye in."’ Archer’s eyes flicked over

to the dark woods. He stowed the arrows in his linen shoulder bag so

their glow would not be seen, trying to keep the concern from his

tone. ‘When you are experienced you don’t need to do it so much,

you can judge the angle and distance by instinct.’

‘So what you told us last time, about seeing the path with your

mind – that was just for beginners?’

‘No, I … Shhhh.’ There was no mistaking it this time. Something

was wrong. He pinched out the wicks on the lanterns.

‘What ...?’ Patricia’s whispered question was halted by Archer’s

fingers on her lips, but he withdrew them as though they had been

burned. There was no time to indulge in thoughts about the softness

of her lips; he had a task to do. Knowing that their eyes would still

be adjusting to the darkness, he took each girl’s hand in turn and

pulled her into a crouch.

He was confident that Patricia would cope well with the danger,

and was pleased that Chrisya remembered enough of her training to

be quiet and follow instructions. Before quenching the light, Archer

had instinctively closed his eyes so they were not so affected by the

rapid change and could recover more quickly. The meagre light from

the waning moon showed the reason for Chrisya’s silence; her face

was pale and taut, with dark shadows drowning her eyes. But the

strongest evidence of her fear was the shallow, uneven breathing,

punctuated by tiny gasps as her body fought to keep her muscles

supplied with oxygen, ready for the fight or flight action.

Placing a hand on her shoulder, he gave a gentle squeeze of

reassurance as he stretched his other hand flat on the ground and

deepened his breathing. On the third breath, his senses sharpened and

he rapidly assessed the multitude of signals, discarding those which

contained only harmless information. The movement of new-grown

leaves in the breeze, the subtle scent of blossom, the erratic

scrabbling of small animals and the beat of wings – none of these

posed a threat. Underneath it all, he isolated an insidious, deliberate

movement. Archer’s natural defence mechanism, or sixth sense, was

shouting its alert that someone was watching.

The girls recognised the signal as he positioned their arms in the

direction of their escape route. As he squeezed their hands, they rose

with him and began their silent retreat. Their trackers were good, but

obviously did not want to risk losing their prey as they exploded

from the undergrowth into a chase.

There was no further need for stealth. They had to run. Fast.

Patricia was swift, but Chrisya was less sure-footed, which

slowed her down. In the training sessions, Archer had insisted on

leaving everything that might hamper them, making sure their hands

were empty. The girls understood the threat from the lawless

Renegates who took great delight in tormenting anyone they

captured. Archer was sure the tales of lone travellers being tortured

in horrific ways were just rumours, spread to frighten the bolder

juniors, but he was taking no chances, especially with two young

girls in his care.

Chrisya stumbled. He caught her in time to stop a fall, but he

could tell from the way she was panting that she didn’t have much

more running left in her. He knew the area – they could shelter in a

nearby cave, if he could find it. Stopping to get his bearings, he heard

the rustle of undergrowth as their pursuers followed the trail and sent

a prayer of thanks for the dry weather and darkness which would

hamper their task.

Patricia realised that he was no longer behind her and stopped.

She retraced her steps and bumped into him with a small squeak.

‘What’s wrong? Why did you stop?’ Her whisper sounded loud.

He held onto her arms as she overbalanced and pulled her close to

whisper, ‘There’s a small cave we can hide in until they’ve gone. We

need to find a tree that was hit by lightning.’ He steeled himself

against the effects her warmth and delicate citrus scent were having

on his senses.

‘All black and twisted? I just passed it.’ Patricia led him a few

paces to the tree, then he guided them the short distance to the mouth

of the cave. They would normally have been nervous about entering

the dank, musty place, but their eyes were now accustomed to the

low light levels. As they moved deeper into the cave, the darkness

was like a solid thing, halting their progress. He pulled out one of the

glowing arrows which pierced the blackness just enough for him to

see. Shielding its glow with his body, he told Patricia to hold on to

his tunic and she echoed the instruction to Chrisya. They reached the

back, sitting on a low ledge to wait until the danger had passed.

As they made their way home after what seemed like a lifetime,

Archer vowed that this time, he had truly learnt his lesson about

being in the woods in the dark with a girl.

:

:

:

End of extract

Acknowledgements

Thank you to everyone who has helped me to believe in myself

– without you, Archer would never have lived outside of my

imagination and my computer’s hard drive.

Special thanks to the following – you know the part you played

and words cannot express my gratitude: Kevin, Lindsey, Char,

Jo, Debby, Norman, Lynne, Sam, Steph, Kerry, Maria,

Hannah, Sarah, Pam, Chris and Anthony. Even when you think

it’s good, there’s always room for improvement – grateful

thanks for your excellent wisdom and advice to Vickie, Jamie,

Tim and Amanda.

Thank you to all those people I have plagued for their opinions

on the ideas, words, artwork and everything else needed to

bring this massive undertaking to fruition.

A big thank you to Kevin Hicks, Richard Head, Karl Ude-

Martinez and the bloggers @ ARMA for their technical

expertise – any remaining mistakes are of my own making.

Glossary

Baldric A belt worn over one shoulder like a sash; typically

used to carry a weapon (e.g. a sword)

Bard A poet or singer, usually a teller of tales

Bodhráin Celtic hand-held drum, played with a wooden tipper

Bodkin A thin, tapered arrowhead, without barbs

Breeches Trousers (pants)

Buckler A small round shield used with a sword in close

combat

Convey Bodyguard or escort, particularly on journeys

Dais Raised platform or stage

Fox & Geese A board game with marbles – like checkers/draughts

Gittern Stringed instrument, similar to a guitar

Hand-ball Table hand-ball - Like table tennis but with gloves

instead of bats

Joust A competition on horseback to show battle skills

Junior A child in the first stage of training, i.e. from 7–16

Lehren Equivalent to school, with the emphasis on learning

rather than teaching

Librarie Library

Magi A Hengist clan: healers, scholars and officials

Marque A flag used to score in the joust

Nocking Lining up the flight of the arrow to the silk thread at

the centre of the bowstring

Outil The largest clan of Hengist: craftsmen, artisans and

farmers

Pace A unit of measure – approximately one yard/metre

Pass A single charge in the joust, also known as a tilt

Pell A wooden post planted firmly in the ground, used as a

target when practising with the sword

Quintain A shield and dummy suspended from a swinging pole,

used for target practice with a lance on horseback

Renegate The smallest clan of Hengist: rebels who broke away

from the rest, living as gypsies

Rings Collected with a lance on horseback

Rouncey A war horse, cheaper, smaller and swifter than a

destrier (also a war horse)

Second A deputy who supports each contender in the joust

Seneschal Chief steward, in charge of running the tourney

Senior From age 17, the education is specific to a trade or

occupation, according to talents

Stump ball Also known as stool ball – an early form of cricket

Surcoat An outer coat or jacket

Tabard A sleeveless jacket, worn over a tunic and instead of a

coat in warmer months

Tabula Similar to backgammon, played with dice & counters

Tilt The wooden barrier separating two combatants in the

joust, also used to mean a single charge or pass

Tourney Tournament

Toxophily The art of archery

Trammazone A descending true-edge cut with a sword, it is a

circular cut from the wrist, breaking to the inside

Tunic Garment for the upper body – could be a thin linen

shirt or woollen like a jumper

Warrior A Hengist clan: soldiers/constables & gamekeepers

Waster A wooden replica of a sword used for training

Worthies Historical heroes, celebrated at Beltane

Main Festivals in the year

Days of the week

Samhain October 31 All Souls (Halloween)

Yule December (19-23) Winter solstice (Christmas)

Imbolc February 1 Candlemas (Valentine)

Ostara March (20-23) Vernal equinox (Easter)

Beltane May 1 The feast of May Day

Midsummer June (19-23) Summer Solstice longest day

Lughnasadh August 1 Harvest festival (Lammas)

Herfest September (19-23) Autumn equinox

Modern Hengist Gods Colours

Sunday Sunday Sun Gold, orange

Monday Moonday Moon Silver, grey

Tuesday Tiwsday Tiw, Mars Red, maroon

Wednesday Wodensday Woden, Mercury Brown, yellow

Thursday Thorsday Thor, Jupiter Turquoise, green

Friday Freyaday Freya, Venus Pink, purple

Saturday Saturnday Saturn Blue, black

Hengist: The People of the Horse

Book 2: Rory

Archer’s reward for being the most worthy student in

his graduating class is to lose his home and all his

friends. The place he is sent to is a world away from

home and he has to get used to many different aspects

of this new life, starting with daily torment from Peter

and his henchmen.

The first day at the foster home is so bad that he wants

to leave but the first day at his new school is so bad

that he is forced to leave. At the new foster home, Rory

and Tom are much friendlier and things finally seem to

be improving.

Not for long. He is back on guard with the arrival of two antagonistic

sisters but his normal defences are useless against an adversary like

Mandy. Archer is dragged further into the shady world of Stiff and his

gang of teenage shoplifters, but how can he hope to survive when the

people he thought were his friends betray him?

Book 3: Reagan

Reagan didn’t think he was anything special, lots of boys could sense

ley-lines and knew the healing properties of plants and trees. Whatever

he did would never be good enough for his mother, not even when he

won the Garlanding or scored 100% on his

graduation tests.

With the help of his spirit guide Blaise and

master trainer Kalen, he tries to determine the

position of the next white horse. After an

unsteady start they are aided in their quest by

Reeve, daughter of the leading authority on

white horses. Reagan’s mathematical skills help

him to decode the complex patterns of ley lines

and crop circles but it becomes a race against

time as the dangerous accidents in the villages

lead to more serious casualties.

Can Archer help him to find the missing pieces of the puzzle or will

Reagan's perilous gift destroy him as it destroyed so many other chosen

children?

The first three books are available on Amazon, Kindle and

Nook. Read more at www.hengistarcher.co.uk What people say about Rory:

“Archer again comes to face more challenges with life, this time more

so with girls in his life and how they can be so influential to get what

they want. Jacky has certainly looked into the life of teenagers and

written this novel to reflect this. I loved the cross over between the two

aspects of life Archer has seen both the historic and the modern.” CF “Rory, the follow up to Archer is totally spectacular but very different.

Archer was completely out of his comfort zone with the modern

teenagers but he handled himself well and brought the best out in

others around him.” DC

“One thing I've found in life is that there are far more Edlyns in the

world than there are Fletches and Finns. I enjoyed the archery scenes

and the glimpses of the extreme training, but would have preferred to

stay in Archer's world for a little while longer.” JA

“Wonderful story telling! It only takes reading a few words for me to

become completely captivated and absorbed into a different world. This

is my second book I have read from this author, and I can't wait for the

next one! Highly recommended.” MB

“After loving Archer so much, I wasn’t sure at first because some of

the characters were so horrible, but then I turned a page and was back

on familiar territory. I couldn’t put it down.” MH

“Yet again, Archer has to prove himself against a multitude of nasty

characters who test him in many new and different ways. Jacky

obviously knows her way round modern teens and some of the action is

quite edgy.” BF

“Like the best successor volumes, Rory has all the virtues of the first,

with an ease and assurance which make for very smooth reading.” RH

“Really enjoyed the first two. Looking forward to reading Reagan, I’ve

put it on my Christmas list.” DS

What people say about Reagan:

“Another pacey book - a great way to get lost for an evening or two.

Follow Reagan and his friends as they travel around Wessex trying to

explain the reasons behind the white horses and their locations. I found

this book almost as hard to put down as when I first read Archer.” CF “Just finished reading Reagan and thought I would let you know I much

I enjoyed it. It has been a while since I have found a book that I just

wanted to carry on reading! It was a pleasure to get to know the

characters and I have gone straight ahead and ordered the other two

books. The book included many of the topics I have taken an interest in

over recent years such as crop circles, white horses etc. and I loved the

way the story wove these together.” RM

“I loved the intricate plotting behind the Wessex White Horses - having

seen one up close and stood inside a crop circle, I understand the

fascination and it's quite an ingenious idea. Although lacking the

excitement of physical battles, Reagan's adventures are no less

compelling and once more, Jacky has surrounded her protagonist with

a strong supporting cast. The detail about dowsing ley lines was

comprehensive and I feel sure she must have practised this art.” KW

The next adventure in this series is Rory. If you would like a taster, read on:

When you’re sixteen years old, with raging hormones giving you

problems, what you need is a support network, a few people on your

side. You don’t need to be uprooted from everything you know,

everyone you could call a friend and the place you have called home for

your whole life. You don’t need to be in a strange place, a million miles

away from everything and everyone you know and love. Somewhere

they apparently spoke the same language using the same words but in

different ways, with different meanings.

Who would know that calling someone ‘bad’ actually meant they

were really good or saying something was ‘wicked’ meant it was

incredibly good? That if you liked someone they were ‘cool’, but if you

really liked someone, they became ‘hot’.

When Archer was voted the top male student in his graduating class, he

was pleased and proud. Less than a week later, he sat miserably on his

bed, wishing he had gained the lowest marks instead of the highest.

Then Lynette would not have brought him to this place where he got a

daily reminder that only babies slept in cots. It wasn’t her fault;

Malduc, the council leader, had sent Archer to learn about this world.

So far he was learning to put up with the unrelenting ridicule from the

other boys in the new foster home. Like on his very first day...

‘So mister Archer, are you going to show us how to use your bow

and arrows then?’

‘He thinks he’s Robin Hood, a real bad-ass outlaw.’

‘He doesn’t realise you’re supposed to give that sort of thing up

when you leave junior school.’

‘No he still thinks he’s a baby, calls his bed a cot.’

But that was what they called beds where he came from, babies slept in

cradles. Archer was on familiar ground – he learned long ago to show

no reaction. It was the only way to deal with that kind of bullying, deny

them what they wanted until they got bored and picked on someone

else. This was not his first experience of scorn and name-calling; he had

put up with far worse.

For several years, Archer endured many fights because his first

foster mother and father were much older than the other parents. As his

foster mother tended his wounds from yet another pointless skirmish,

he decided that he was not going to worry any more. The bullies were

not important enough for him to care about their taunts. After that, they

stopped just saying, and started doing. Things that belonged to him

would get damaged, destroyed or disappear. He had an idea who was

behind it all, but the boy had many supporters. There was not a single

person Archer could call a friend, so he simply put-up and shut-up.

Archer smiled as yet another strange phrase came into his head; he

was picking up their expressions quickly by spending many of his

waking hours studying the magical box in the corner of the room

downstairs...

The first time he saw it, Archer had stared in horror as the screen

showed moving pictures of a battle with great explosions and wounded

people. ‘Can we not help those people? They need …’ but as he was

trying to decide how best to treat a leg that was torn off at the knee and

pumping blood, the image changed to show a beach with several

women wearing almost no clothing. He stared in disbelief until his new

foster father, a gruff man called Dave, said, ‘Close your mouth son,

never seen a woman in a bikini before?’

‘But how can those women be inside the box? And what happened

to the wounded man?’

‘Are you for real? Those people are in Spain and the war was

somewhere in the Middle East. Didn’t they have a telly where you

came from?’

‘A telly? Is that what you call the box?’

‘Yes. They make a programme and send it through the air. The TV

decodes it and displays it on that screen.’

‘How do they send a programme through the air?’

‘Radio waves or something. I’m no electrician. I’m sure it’ll tell you

on the internet. Well it would if Peter hadn’t kicked his football into the

monitor and smashed it. I suppose you could try the encyclopaedia, it’s

on the shelf. You can read can’t you?’

Archer barely understood anything the man had said and felt great

relief as he followed the man’s pointing finger and saw something he

could understand. Books.