Ferryl Shayde Read online

  Ferryl Shayde

  Vance Huxley

  This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

  © 2017 Vance Huxley

  Published by Entrada Publishing.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Dedication

  To my Noeline and to the Joy of my life

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my editor Sharon Umbaugh,

  for turning my words into a book worth reading.

  My thanks to Rachel at Entrada

  for all her hard work and encouragement.

  Ferryl Shayde

  Table of Contents

  1. Out of the Pit

  2. A Glyph from the Gods

  3. Learning Curve

  4. Unwelcome Attention

  5. Troubled Times

  6. Coming Together

  7. Adios Amigos

  Players

  Abel’s Magical World

  I – Out of the Pit

  Abel Conroy, fifteen, stood in the library van and chose the three old-fashioned romance novels that would change his life. His mum had to go into work today, library van day, so Abel had been volunteered to pick out three new ones for her. Now he hoped she liked them, or she would have to make a trip into town to the library to swap them again. His mum had enough on her plate just raising Abel on her own. Abel headed back into the little village of Brinsford, nestled in the edges of the Pennines, veering into the road a little as he came past Castle House. The boarded up doors and windows of the big, old, rambling house and the overgrown gardens always gave him a creepy feeling. He sometimes wondered why anyone had bothered to padlock the gate in the fence.

  Abel hesitated when he saw Henry Copples coming up the road towards him, then braced himself for the hassle. He hunched his shoulders and kept walking, taking care not to meet Henry’s eyes. At 190 centimetres and nearly 80 kilos of muscle, even at fifteen Henry Copples loomed over Abel’s 168 centimetres and scrawny 44 kilos, or seven stone as Grandad insisted. “Hey, Squeak, what you got? Porn?”

  Abel didn’t object to being called squeak or Henry would hurt him until he squeaked to prove the point. “These are from the library van, books for my mum.”

  “I didn’t know the library van stocked porn. Wish my mum read us bedtime stories like that. Let me see.” Henry advanced, grinning. “I’ll only tear out the good ones.”

  Abel glanced back down the lane for any possible help, but it was empty now the library van had left. He daren’t let Henry get the three books because despite them not being even remotely pornographic, Henry would tear a few pages out anyway. “They’re library books. I can’t let you rip them up.” Abel took a step back, looking round, but the only escape might be over the fence into the garden of Castle House. He hesitated, because the tangled trees and bushes suddenly looked even creepier for some reason. Abel decided he’d be better off trying to get past Henry and hoping someone heard the yelling and came to look.

  A voice cut in. “What are you two doing?” Abel’s momentary relief died when he recognised Tyson, Henry’s big brother, letting his dog out of a car. Until he left school at sixteen, two years ago, Tyson had been an even worse bully than his brother. “Hey, it’s a squeaky. Gettim, Cooch.” The dog lunged towards Abel, barking and snarling, pulling the chain lead taut.

  Abel turned to run, but too late as Henry caught hold of his arm and pulled him back round. Frantic now, Abel struggled, trying to prise Henry’s hand off the books. “You want to fight?” Pain exploded as a fist hit Abel’s nose and he staggered back, blood dripping as Henry pulled the books free. Abel snatched at them but Henry pulled his prize back out of reach, raising his fist again. As he swung, Abel ducked and turned, lunging for the fence and half-falling over. He scrambled to his feet and staggered towards the trees, holding his nose to stop the blood from pouring out. Behind him Henry sounded jubilant. “Come on Tyson, set Cooch after him.”

  “Hunting with hounds is illegal, ain’t it?” Tyson laughed loudly. “Stop playing with those books and open the bloody gate you idiot, or he’ll get away.” Behind him Abel could hear excited barking and now splintering sounds as the brothers kicked in the padlocked gate.

  Abel ran across the rough grass and down a faint path as fast as possible, holding a wad of tissues to his nose and wondering how to get away from a dog. Climbing a tree wouldn’t help because the brothers would pull him down again. Cooch probably wouldn’t bite him much, he hoped, but those two would beat seven bells out of him. Glancing down at the overgrown path, and the trail he left through the grass, Abel realised he’d have to get in among the undergrowth at least.

  A gap showed him the house off to the side, but all the side windows were boarded. A pity, or Abel might have risked all the rumours of ghosts and monsters. He could have hidden in the huge, sprawling place forever. “Let Cooch go. We’ll know when he’s caught the squeak by the screaming.” Henry’s voice made the decision for Abel; he swerved away from the house and off the path, jumping over a low bush and heading for the thickest bushes he could see.

  Abel didn’t go far, though it felt like forever when he ran out of breath and lost any idea of direction. He pushed through yet more bushes and rampant honeysuckle, between two trees, and burst out into a small glade. Even as he saw the cliff blocking his way, Abel tripped over a huge flat circular slab, falling to his hands and knees. The tissue fell from his hands, blood pouring from his nose onto the stone. A crackling noise surrounded him as if he’d stepped on a giant frozen puddle as lines of dust rose from the worn carvings. Abel jumped back as the dust blew aside in a sudden gust of wind. That noise had to be from the network of cracks zigzagging across the slab! Abel shivered as his blood drained into the cracks. He’d nearly broken through and fallen into whatever lay hidden.

  Two hollow thumps sounded, followed by an echoing voice. “Knock, knock, who be that?”

  Abel spun round but couldn’t see anyone. “I’m supposed to ask who you are.” He kept his voice down because he didn’t want to give that dog any help. He didn’t want to play knock-knock jokes either.

  “Tis my joke so I make the rules. Who be that?” The voice echoed around Abel from all directions and suddenly sounded stronger. “Such strong blood, and distant kin to the sorcerer? What do ye need? I been left here too long so I will not be much help.”

  Abel ignored the voice for a moment, looking around for someplace to hide from Cooch and the Copples. The cliff face stopped him running any further and stretched out of sight in both directions. The cave straight ahead wasn’t deep and mostly filled by a well-worn statue, one of those gargoyle type garden ornaments. This one stood taller than Abel and wide enough to hide behind if there was room. Even as he ran round the slab to get there, fumbling for another tissue to stop his nosebleed, Abel wondered what the voice meant. “Help? You could scare off that dog and the two lunatics chasing me.”

  “I need more blood if I be going to fight three. Unless ye set me free?”

  “Blood? My blood?” Abel had reached the cave and found that the stone figure almost touched the back wall. Now most of his mind turned to wondering if he could hide by scrambling onto the statue’s back. “Who are you? Show yourself.”

  “I be, I be… Wait, I know, let me think…. Pungh Hmmshtfun, Spiritus qui furabatur, Koška Smerti, Braeth Huntian….. I remember! This body be Ferryl Shayde. I cannot come out. I
be trapped here.”

  “Pungh Hmmshtfun? What sort of name is that?” Abel put a foot on the statue’s haunch but it promptly slipped off. The stone didn’t look that smooth so he tried again, slipping a second time.

  “Who gave you my true-name?”

  “Which name? Pungh Hmmshtfun? You told me.” Abel tried to hold onto one of the stubby horns to pull himself up, but his hand slithered off.

  After a short silence the voice answered, quieter and definitely disgruntled. “Blood-link. Stupid, stupid. If I had my wits…” It spoke louder. “Keep quiet, do not tell anyone else that name. ‘Tis bad enough with the sorcerer and now you.” A sigh more like a breeze through leaves sounded, though no leaves moved. “What be your wish?”

  “Can you help me? Please?” Abel had given up on trying to get onto or behind the statue, and couldn’t see anywhere else to hide. “Can I hide with you?”

  “You would not like it.” The voice definitely sounded amused. “I can help ye fight?”

  “Fight? Me?” Abel would have laughed, but he’d heard crashing in the bushes so he felt more terrified than amused. “There’s a dog and two lads bigger than me.”

  “Give me more blood?”

  “For God’s sake, stop it with the blood. What are you, a vampire? And keep a bit quieter will you?” Abel realised he’d possibly hissed that a bit louder than he’d meant to.

  The voice sounded sulky now. “Nobody can hear me but you. I am not a blood-leech. I want the blood for the magic in it. Nobody uses blood for glyphs if there’s any other way. If you want me to help, pick up a stick and step on the stone.”

  “It’ll break! It’s already cracked.”

  “In my dreams. Now do it!” The last three words had some snap in them so Abel picked up a stick. He stepped on the stone, right at the edge and very gingerly, but it didn’t move or make any noise. “That be a twig.” Abel glanced down at the stick. It wasn’t very big, but better than a twig and the biggest nearby. “The hound comes. As soon as it do step on the stone, throw the stick.”

  “What, and shout fetch?”

  “No. Throw at it, you fool. I will deal with the rest.” The voice became a little bit hopeful with some wheedling. “A few more drops of blood would help. Fresh, with the magic still in it?”

  “Here.” Abel threw his now sodden tissue on the slab and stared as it turned pure white again. He didn’t have time to ask, because Cooch burst from the bushes and headed straight for him. Abel threw the stick, but hopelessly misjudged the dog’s speed and the stick flew high and wide, or almost did before looping in mid-air and sticking into Cooch’s shoulder! Cooch yelped, swerved aside, and for a moment Abel thought the stick wiggled and pushed itself deeper. Cooch certainly yelped again, louder, before limping back into the bushes as fast as possible.

  “Curses. Hardly any magic at all. Dog blood. Thin, weak, and hairy.” Abel ignored the voice, staring at the clean stone and the blood trail in the grass. He’d seen Cooch bleed on the slab! “Can ye hold one of the men on the stone long enough to drain more magic?”

  “What? No! No killing, draining, whatever. What the hell are you?” Abel stared around, then down at his empty hands. “Don’t worry, there’ll be lots of blood when they beat the crap out of me.”

  “Tempting, but you used my name, so I must help. Can ye find another stick?”

  “Too late.”

  Henry burst out of the bushes, eyes wild. “You nearly killed Cooch, you nasty little sod. Now it’s payback. This for starters.” He ripped the book in his other hand in half, letting the pages fall before striding forward.

  As Henry pulled back his fist, a voice snapped, “Hit him.” The voice didn’t ask, it commanded, or Abel would never have tried punching Henry in the chin. His hand barely moved before something caught hold of it and jerked it forward to strike Henry just below the eye. To Abel’s utter astonishment Henry staggered back before stumbling off to the side, clutching his face!

  Abel didn’t have time to savour that because blinding pain from his hand doubled him up. Even as he cradled the injury, the voice berated him. “Not in the head, fool. The head is made of bone. Hit the next one in the body.”

  “I can’t. I broke my hand.” Abel barely whispered, but the mystery woman heard him. He felt sure the voice was a woman because she sounded like Miss Eddings, a particularly waspy teacher at primary school.

  “Use the other hand. Remember, in the body.”

  Tyson burst from the bushes, stopping to stare at Henry. “What’s the matter with you?” Tyson’s eyes moved to Abel, then back again. “Why didn’t you flatten the squeak?”

  Abel took the chance to straighten up and try to look ready. He daren’t look at the state of his left hand. Henry mumbled the reply, pointing at Abel. “Watch out. He’s learned boxing or some bullshit martial arts.”

  “Got you with a sucker shot you mean. Serves you right.” Tyson might have sneered but he moved in slowly and held both hands up in defence, fists clenched.

  “Now.” Abel didn’t think Tyson had come near enough, but as his right hand started forward it pulled the rest of him with it. Tyson grinned as the punch started, moving his arm to block. Instead Abel’s fist dropped as it sped up, hitting the larger youth solidly just below his ribs. Tyson’s breath whooshed out as he doubled up, staggered two steps backwards and sat in the grass. He fell over on his side, both hands holding his belly, gasping for air while Abel shook his numb hand and forearm. “You really are weak. Be you sick, or a scholar?”

  Abel didn’t answer, concentrating on not crying out because now his other hand hurt like hell. If he’d dared he might have laughed at the sight of the two brothers, one laid out and the other hunched over holding his face. Unfortunately, if either of them tried again he’d got nothing left for the voice to use. Abel skittered away from that thought, that something used his hand, but he certainly didn’t throw either punch.

  “Told you,” Henry mumbled. He still had a hand to his face, glaring at Abel but making no attempt to attack again.

  “Just leave me alone, all right? I don’t want trouble.” Abel didn’t. He’d already started worrying that these two would get some payback sooner or later. Unless Abel persuaded his mum that she wanted the voice as a very shy lodger, so it could protect him?

  “For now. It’s not finished.” Henry kept glaring but he moved to where Tyson had now sat back up, and reached down to help his brother stand. Both looked at a defiant Abel for long moments before turning to leave. As a final gesture, Henry stamped on the pieces of the book, grinding them into the dirt.

  As soon as the pair disappeared Abel sat down and curled up around his left hand. “Who or what are you and why didn’t you come out and hit them?” Another thought hit him. “Why didn’t they hear you?” Dead silence answered him. “Pung Humstfun? No, that’s wrong. Pungh Hmmshtfun?”

  “Stop saying that name!”

  “Well answer me then.”

  “If you swear to stop saying my true-name. Use another, any other.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they are not my true-name so I will ignore them if I wish.” Abel could almost hear the ‘of course, idiot’ at the end of that.

  “Can we start again, please? I’m Abel Conroy, and in spite of you crippling me, I’m pleased you helped. If you helped. However you helped?”

  “I be Ferryl Shayde when the sorcerer put me in the pit.” The voice sharpened. “Where is he? He should have heard when ye cracked the seal!”

  “What pit?” Abel put the big cracked stone slab and pit together, he’d been right to jump back off it. “Nobody lives here. The house has been empty forever. The place is boarded up and there’s rumours of ghosts and monsters and a ghastly death at some time. It must have been a long time ago because Grandad says the place was empty when he was a nipper. Oh, er, blimey, are you a ghost or a monster?” Some odd part of Abel’s head reminded him not to swear in front of an adult, because Ferryl Shayde definitely sounded adult. />
  “I be someone who made a mistake. I lost a…..a sort of contest with the sorcerer and he put me under the stone. He took my wits to keep me helpless, then used me for testing dangerous glyphs. The type that may fight back. Describe the house and garden, and the village.” After a short pause the voice added, “If ye please?”

  * * *

  Abel described Brinsford as best he could; Main Street with older houses and the pub and village shop, the Village Green, Brinn Lane with a few posh new houses at one side and older ones on the other, and Riverside Close with a dozen old council houses. The voice asked more questions and her comments showed she really had been in that hole a long time. The old house, Castle House, had been rebuilt or added to since Ferryl Shayde last saw it, and several houses Abel thought of as old were new to her.

  Ferryl recognised his description of most of Main Street with the Green at one end and Castle Road at the other, running past Castle House to the road into town. She also knew Brinn’s Lane, leading out of the village over the bridge and up the valley, but not all the houses. Ferryl knew the Copples owned one farm, but thought the other one belonged to a Lord. She’d never heard of Riverside Close, the council housing where Abel lived with his mum.

  Abel had suspended any sort of belief at the moment, especially after Ferryl explained she, definitely she, wasn’t talking at all. They were communicating by blood-link after he dripped on the stone above her prison. Ferryl was a magician of some sort, but kept skirting round an exact description. By now Abel wondered if the blood loss and pain were making him hallucinate, or perhaps he’d passed out and imagined most of it.

  “I’ve got to go. I’ll have to go to the hospital with my hand.” Abel looked down at himself. “That’ll be fun, explaining, because I don’t think mentioning you is a good idea. Mum will be mad about the blood all over my clothes because these are new jeans and they’ll stain.” He glanced at the stone slab, allegedly where Ferryl Shayde lived. “I’ll come back when I can.”