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Listeners' Fantasies |
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From Ambridge to Eternity
by inguanoveritas
 This eerie and magical story was contributed to the Fantasy Archers topic of .
It was going to be a brilliant jewel of a day. From Lakey Hill, the dappled landscape of Borsetshire, the timeless stretch of middle England that had inspired the history of Gildas and Bede, the prose of Defoe and Eliot, the poetry of Langland, Houseman and Arnold, and the enigmatic music of Edward Elgar, spread out before Phil as it woke up under a golden autumn sun and a timeless blue sky.
Phil had got up before dawn. He wanted to have plenty of time to walk to the top of Lakey Hill for breakfast. Before long he and Jill would be leaving for the airport for the long night flight to Singapore and the start of their world cruise.
This was his favourite spot: for the umpteenth time in his life he watched the sun's first rays sharpen the wavy line of Hassett Hills and freckle the coloured countryside of the Severn Valley with shadows. For the umpteenth time, he imagined the infinite generations of nameless ancestors who had surveyed the same scene from the same place. And for the umpteenth time he thought how much he loved Lakey Hill and this small piece of England that had shaped his life.
When he was a boy, Phil had played among the Neolithic ruins on the hilltop; as a man, he had farmed its slopes as part of the jigsaw of fields around Brookfield. Now, as an old man, with one hand on a stick and the other held palm-out to hide the sun, his gaze followed a succession of landmarks in his life: the apparently aimless meandering of the road from Waterley Cross, skirting Heydon Rise and Green Spinney, past Glebe Cottage and St Stephens Church, over the Am to the Green then straight past the Bull to the Village Hall.
At the junction with the Borchester Road it appeared to peter out. But, as Phil knew, it was an ancient thoroughfare, linking prehistoric, hilltop settlements and in the middle of the village it became Jiggins Track, the path he had just taken. As he eyes traced its course, he saw he was not alone: a single figure which had been following him was just arriving.
"Hello, Dad," said David: "How are you? This is all very mysterious, secret meetings on Lakey Hill before breakfast; so what's it all about, you're not going to ask me to join the Masons are you...?"
"No, nothing like that, but thanks for coming; I'm not very good at all this, and I don't want to be too formal but -" here Phil fumbled in the folds of his jacket and brought out a large package tied with string, "I want give you this."
Phil handed David a fat manila envelope, well sealed and tied with sisal string, the knot covered with red sealing wax. It was clearly very old, a bit dusty, and as he took it David found it lighter than he had expected for its size.
"This must all seem very odd," said Phil, verging on embarrassment, "but my father gave it to me, and his father, John Archer, gave it to him, and his father, Daniel Archer, your great-great grandfather, gave it to him. It's like a slow motion pass the parcel, nobody's unwrapped it in over a century."
David read the inscription written on the front in blue ink: To the Archer Family in the Future: keep this safe until a man calling himself The Archer seeks you out. It was signed: Daniel Archer, 11th November 1886."
"Before you ask me, I haven't the faintest idea what's inside and nobody called The Archer has ever come knocking the door of Brookfield or at Glebe Cottage; I've just kept it safe since Dad gave it to me, around 1975 I think, about a year before he died."
"How very strange," said David, who had been startled by the distinctive handwriting which, even at a glance, seemed a bit like Phil's: "OK, well, I'll keep it safe too, but why now, why are you handing it over to me now, You're OK aren't you? There's nothing wrong with you is there?"
"No, I'm fine, but your mother and I are going halfway round the world, we'll be away for six months and I don't think I've ever been away from Ambridge for as long as that before. Oh, and keep it under your hat, Jill's never seen this, one of the only things I've never told her about in 50 years of marriage, so you and I are the only two people in the world who know it exists."
David slid the envelope into the game pocket of his Barbour jacket and they walked down Jiggins Track together. The sun was just high enough to warm their freshly shaved faces, and the smell of frying bacon caught the morning air as Ambridge prepared for breakfast.
"You, me and The Archer of course," said David as if puzzled by his father's apparent lack of curiosity: "he must know - I wonder who he is and what's in here that is so important?"
***
Thirty hours after meeting David on Lakey Hill, Phil was sitting in a window seat in a British Airways Jumbo flying at 10,000 feet above the Himalayas. He gazed down on his second dawn in as many days; as far as the eye could see the landscape was white, one the greatest expanses of snow on the planet, and it sparkled into life under the pink sun, like a gigantic, uncut diamond.
Jill was asleep next to him. He thought how much he loved her and was about to snuggle down and go to sleep himself when some impulse drew him to look up at the sky above the Jumbo. High in the darkness of near space, he saw a bright point of light speed across the sky, travelling in the same direction but several times faster than the aeroplane. It was only visible for a few seconds and if Phil had followed his instinct and snuggled down a moment earlier, he'd have missed it. Something had made him look up, and he watched as the light disappeared towards the east, towards the sun, leaving a glistening trail in its wake.
Seconds later, the Jumbo shook slightly; then again, more violently this time. It was not enough to wake Jill, but it troubled Phil. What had he just seen? In his mind, the hypersonic light source and the jolt were connected, and he thought of reporting what he had seen to the crew. But then the intercom system came to life to announce in reassuring tones: "This is the Captain speaking, we may be entering a little spot of clear air turbulence so, just in case, could you check your seatbelts are properly fastened."
There was no more turbulence and Jill slept on. Some inner voice told Phil the light source was important, but he lacked the imagination to wrestle with the question why. To blot it out, he put his chair back, snuggled down, and dozed between wakefulness and troubled sleep.
Two hours later he woke to the smell of bacon. Jill woke seconds later, stirred out of her sleep by the purser announcing that breakfast was about to be served.
By the time they had eaten their Club Class English Breakfast high above the Bay of Bengal, and tidied up around their seats, the captain announced that they were about to descend towards Singapore. At 11.00 am local time the Jumbo's wheels rumbled on to the tarmac at Changi airport.
At that moment, half a world away in his bedroom at Brookfield, David woke with a start. He had no idea what had disturbed him but he noticed that light was filtering through the bedroom curtains. He looked at the alarm clock: 4.00 am. It was early for that level of light he thought and for a moment he wanted to get up and see if he had left the light on in the yard. But at that moment Ruth stirred beside him and to avoid waking her he snuggled down and dozed off again.
David slept badly, like Phil had, but for a different reason. Phil had not told Jill about the bright light because he did not want to alarm her. Now it troubled him and he had to deal with it alone. David had not told Ruth about the envelope because he did not want to alarm her about Phil. Unable to talk to her about it, David's dark thoughts about his father's actions the previous morning churned around in his mind: Had Dad had a premonition of death? What was in the package? Who was The Archer?
Minutes later David was completely alert again. This time he knew why: he could hear Will Grundy's dog, Meg, barking insistently, setting off a chorus of village dogs like the twilight scene in 101 Dalmatians. The light was a bit stronger. Ruth slept on, but David decided to get up and he slowly eased his way out of their bed and crept downstairs.
***
David peered into the yard from the kitchen window. There was no light on and the whole place was shrouded in darkness, no sign of the light he had seen earlier: was it a poacher? Fly tippers? Somebody interfering with the stock?
He decided to investigate. Taking down a pair of waterproof trousers kept by the back door for precisely this kind of emergency, David pulled them on over his pyjamas, followed by thick socks and boots, a pullover, and his Barbour. Once he had the jacket on, he felt the envelope still inside the game pocket.
David toured the yard and found nothing suspicious. He shone a big torch along the electric fence and counted the cattle; they were all there. He looked at his watch. It was four-thirty: dawn was over an hour away; it was too early to start work and too late to go back to bed. So, fingering the envelope, his mind turned back to meeting Phil on Lakey Hill the previous day.
Like Phil, at different times in his life David had gone to Lakey Hill to think, so he went back indoors, scribbled a note to Ruth - "Couldn't sleep. Gone for a walk. Back soon" - and left quietly. He set himself a brisk pace along the empty road, over the Am and through the blind and silent houses.
At the bottom of Jiggins Track he looked up at Lakey Hill. In the semi-darkness he could see a figure standing exactly where Phil had stood the previous day. With renewed energy, he almost ran up the track and as he neared the top he stopped, dumbfounded: the man had a stick in one hand and the other was raised: not to hide the sun, there was none, but with the palm facing out, fingers slightly spread in a greeting universally meant to show he meant no threat.
For a moment, even close up, David thought he was looking at his father but as he neared the figure he saw a stranger. Confidently, David moved closer: the old man wore a dark, woollen coat that went down to the ground, leaving only his hands and his head visible. What hair he had was snow white and swept back over a shiny pate emphasising a high forehead and dark eyes.
The two men locked their gaze in friendly silence. The visitor's features, his kindly, open but unflinching manner, and evident strong character, reminded David not so much of his father now, but of his grandfather, Dan. The stranger spoke in a voice polished with age: "Hello David, I'm The Archer."
David reached out to shake The Archer's free hand: "How very good to meet you," he said "I'm David Archer, but you seem to know that already; well this is a surprise! You know, for a half of Shires, I'd have called you Granddad."
The old man smiled at David's joke and his evident poise and trust: "And you don't know how close you might have been. I believe your father gave you a package yesterday, David?"
"He did," said David, aware of the immediate familial intimacy implied by The Archer's use of his first name. He reached into his pocket and brought out the envelope: "That's right. In fact I have it with me. But, as you can imagine, I'd love to know what's in it and the story behind it?"
The Archer's eyes flickered towards the brightening eastern sky. The sun's light was visible now, but it would be fifteen minutes before it rose above Hassett Hills. When his eyes re-engaged with David's, the tempo of his voice quickened.
"The last time I saw that envelope your great-great grandfather Daniel was standing where you are now, and I was here," said The Archer. Then his voice became sombre: "As to what's in it: some very ancient human bones."
In the gathering light, The Archer explained the macabre contents of the envelope to David. He gestured towards the ruined tombs behind him with a sweep of the hand: "those bones lay there for several thousand years, undisturbed until 1886, the year that archaeologists came to Lakey Hill and dug them up."
The old man paused briefly, letting his view of the depths of human instincts sink in. Then he went on: "Daniel Archer stopped them. He was a strong man, both physically and in spirit; he sent them away, one with a black eye, then he collected the pilfered bones in his jacket, took them home and sealed them in that package. He kept watch in case the grave robbers came back; but they didn't."
David was aware that the old man would not be around long once the sun came up. "But how did you meet Daniel? Who are you? And why are you called The Archer?"
There was a pause; in Leader's Wood a flock of early rooks swirled into the half-lit sky; a tired dawn chorus of startled small birds captured the mood.
The Archer spoke quietly: "They are my bones."
David looked at the old man quizzically but said nothing because he could not think of anything to say.
Satisfied, the old man continued: "I lived here thousands of years ago, in what you now call Ambridge. My ancestors, people who came from very far away, from beyond the Sun, settled here in what you now call England long before I was born. What you now call Borsetshire was one of the most special places on Earth, not only beautiful but bountiful. I grew up to be a hunter; I used flint arrowheads to kill wild boar; I also killed men who came to rob us.
"When I died I was buried here, on the hill I had known all my life, but my spirit returned to the home of my ancestors, beyond the Sun. I stayed there until my tomb was robbed by the diggers, but when my bones were disturbed, I was empowered to return to the Earth.
"What I found was the badness of the grave robbers but I also found the goodness of my descendant and your ancestor, Daniel. He empowered my spirit to return by rescuing my bones. He called me The Archer, but I am one of The Archers; I am your ancestor."
As he spoke, The Archer started opening the package: he broke the sealing wax, untied the string and slit open the envelope with his finger. Without even peering inside, he handed the open packet to David, then gestured towards the stone graves again: "Would you return my bones to their resting place under that stone, David."
The eastern sky was brighter now and David knew they only had a few more minutes together; he took the envelope and did as The Archer asked, lifting the slab-like stone to find a hollow space beneath. He propped it up with a small boulder and gently handed the brittle, dusty bones back into the grave. As he worked, The Archer continued:
"Since 1886 I have travelled widely through the universe. I have visited many places where our people have settled. I have seen some places where bad people have triumphed, and destroyed their homes by leading weak lives. I have seen other places where good people have triumphed and built good homes by leading strong lives. As you must know, today the Earth is poised between bad and good: there are bad people and there are good people and to survive you first have to know the difference and lead your life accordingly."
David let the stone drop back into place. Then he turned towards The Archer, not really knowing what he was going to say. There was nobody there. But as David looked eastwards, shielding his eyes from the first rays of the sun and feeling its physical warmth and inspirational energy, just as it had flooded over the top of the Hassett Hills every day for centuries, high above them against the still dark sky he saw a bright point of light speeding across the jewel-like dawn.
David clenched his outstretched fist and put his thumb up as a signal to The Archer that he did understand; a feeling of goodness flooded through his body and mind. He folded the empty envelope and put it back inside his game pocket, just as, in Singapore, Phil and Jill were walking out on to their balcony to have a late breakfast.
***
Phil shaded his eyes against the tropical sun and looked out over the sparkling midday waters of the Malacca Straights, crammed with giant tankers taking oil from the Gulf to industrial centres, and container ships, low in the water, stacked to their mastheads with giant steel boxes full of manufactured goods from children's toys to pain-killing drugs.
He was jolted out of his reverie by Jill: "Sit down Phil, I've got a treat for you".
He watched lovingly as she poured fresh milk into Phil's cup from a small aluminium flask then added strong, amber tea. Proudly, she explained why it was a treat: "The tea pot may be local, but the tea leaves are Full Strength English Breakfast bought in the Ambridge Village Shop last week and, Phil, this is Brookfield milk, which I brought out in my luggage, so enjoy it because it's the last time you have that luxury for a while."
Phil fingered the cuff of the pullover she had given him, then sipped his tea: "Thank you Jill, you really are the most wonderful woman in the world, you know. I'm very lucky."
Then he put his cup back on the saucer and looked out once more at the busy waterway bathed in hot sun. He shaded his eyes and lifted his gaze towards the horizon, to where the Hassett Hills would have been had he been on top of Lakey Hill. High above, there was a bright point of light, travelling eastwards and at the same incredible speed he remembered over the Himalayas the previous day.
He wanted to show Jill this time, so he could talk about it with her. But even as he tried to speak, he felt powerless, as if a gentle hand had grasped his whole body. All he could do was lean his head back and close his eyes. He tried to speak again, but as the sky became ever darker, words would not come, and in the darkness of his mind he was travelling at ever greater speed towards the sun.
Jill looked across at him: "So am I." Then with a little concern at seeing him comatose: "Phil... are you all right...?"
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Archers fantasies
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