The Phantom Archer: The Phantom Series, #1

By N.A. Shaw

Gwendolyn's mother always told her that fairytales and fables were just stories for children, but she was wrong. Monsters are very real and when Gwen's friend is killed she finds herself on the run and hunted. She gains an unusual ally in a ghostly vigilante, the Phantom Archer. He offers her protection if, in return, she can help him solve his own mystery. She is led to the Lockwood estate where she meets the enigmatic Lady Lockwood who is on the trail of her brother's killer, and offers to help Gwen figure out the Phantom Archer's mysterious messages. Gwen learns there is more to the manor house than meets the eye and finds herself involved in daring escapes and dangerous situations that will reveal a long-hidden secret that will change her life forever. 
Set in a historical backdrop of Tudor England this book is inspired by folklore and fairytales some well-known and others mostly forgotten. It is a perfect read for both older children and adults that love adventure and historical horror. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: N.A.Shaw
• Release date: Oct 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781739598808

Book preview

THE

PHANTOM ARCHER

◊

N.A. SHAW

Original text and concept of The Phantom Archer Copyright © Natalie Shaw 2007

Second edition text copyright © Natalie Shaw 2022

Illustrations Copyright © Mike Oakley 2021

The right of Natalie Shaw to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents act 1988.

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

Except for the quotation of small passages for the purpose of review, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.

The Phantom Archer and all related characters and elements are copyright © Natalie Shaw 2007

Second edition: June 2022

ISBN 978-1-7395988-2-2 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-7395988-0-8 (ebook)

Published by N.A. Shaw

http://www.nashaw.co.uk

Table of Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

49

50

51

52

53

54

55

56

57

58

59

60

61

Acknowledgements

Historical Confessions

About the Author

For my friends and family, who have suffered many long conversations about this book, thank you for your endless patience.

To my partner for being my rock when I needed it, and telling me not to quit when publishing this got difficult.

Thank you to my Sifu for the many lessons, and for being brave enough to teach me how to use a sword.

For Debbie, I wish we’d had longer to fight, laugh and grow old together.

1

I thought hiding in the forest was a good idea. Turns out I was wrong. I crouched, waiting, as the twigs poked my thighs and pulled at my hat. Ahead, through the gap in the leaves I could see the dirt road. I prayed I’d been wrong, that nothing was coming after me. The air was heavy and damp. I’d heard stories about this road, and this forest. People being robbed, killed, and it was certainly not my first choice for a hiding place. However, it was better than the narrow roads where I could easily get cornered. I knew my mistake, staying too late at the alehouse. The warmth of the fire, the feeling of food in my stomach and the light— I felt safe in the light. I wished I was still there— the narrow tall building with white walls and bright lanterns was a beacon to weary travellers —but lingering was dangerous. My mother always told me an alehouse was no place for a lady at night.

Crouched in my uncomfortable position, I closed my eyes and let myself hear her voice, sweet and comforting as the memory whispered in my ear.

My big brave girl, remember I love you.

I opened my eyes and took a deep breath, letting the recollection drift away.  A chill wind snaked through the woods causing creaks of complaint from the trees. The branches seemed to loom over the dirt trail, as though wanting to gobble up any traveller that dared to walk past them. I heard a noise from up the road.  Just as I suspected, three men appeared, following my trail. They had been at the alehouse. The ones who’d cast furtive looks in my direction ahead of hushed conversations. They stumbled along, a little worse for wear, dressed in dark clothes and each wearing a cloth hat. The man leading the group suddenly stopped, causing the men trailing him to bump into each other.

Oi, careful, one of them said.

The leader ignored them. Where did she go? He was small and thin with an unpleasant facade.

I felt my stomach drop.

They were looking for me.

Don’t know, one of the men behind him said. He was stocky and wore a hat with droopy-looking feathers pinned to the side. I guessed at some point they might have been decorative, but now they just looked sad. 

She can’t have gone far. She could barely walk.

He was right. The reason I hadn’t run was that my feet were covered in cuts and blisters.

I told you we should have grabbed her at the alehouse, the third man hissed to Droopy Feathers. He was tall and his long arms stuck out of a jacket that was clearly too small.

And have her wake up the town when she called for help? Droopy Feathers hit back. She must have realised we were following her. She’s hiding somewhere.

Search the woods—she can’t be far, the leader commanded.

The men fanned out, going each side of the road, moving bushes and checking behind trees. I knew why they were after me. A Wanted parchment was nailed to a tree a few feet from my position; it displayed my picture and the accusation that I killed my best friend.  The last image of Oliver haunted my mind: the blood pooling around his body and those glassy eyes staring at me from the kitchen floor. I bunched my fingers, the nails digging into my palms. It was so unfair, but pointless to shout my innocence— no one would listen. I’m never taken seriously. I’m too young, too small and have no status. They would simply laugh at my feeble protest, clamp me in irons and leave me in a cell for the rest of my life. So I stayed hidden and hoped my pursuers would give up. My skin started to tingle; there was a presence nearby. It was too dark to see. The men sensed it too.

I think we should leave—these woods give me a bad feeling, the tall one said, walking back onto the road, looking around at the trees. The black branches groaned with the shift of the wind.

Ooh now who’s a scaredy-cat? Droopy Feathers teased.

Call me what you want. Too many people have gone missing along this road. Some have turned up dead.  Remember that man found torn apart? They say he had a look on his face like he’d seen the devil himself. Then that nobleman a few weeks ago. I tell you these woods are cursed, he hissed.

That nobleman was a robbery, the leader answered.

There was more to it than a robbery, the tall man replied.

His words seemed to ignite a sense of fear that rippled through the other men.

I say we leave her out here. We can return tomorrow and we’ll probably find her body, Droopy Feathers suggested.

All right— it’s too cold to stay out here anyway, the leader agreed.

There were further mutterings and grunts of agreement from the group and they headed back to town. I waited until their silhouettes had disappeared, along with their footsteps. Finally, when my numb knees could take no more, I dared to stand up and carefully step back onto the road.

I told you she was hiding somewhere.

I gasped as I watched the three men walk out from behind a couple of trees.

I’d fallen for their trick.

I...I don’t have anything, I said, taking a few steps back as they advanced on me.

The leader chuckled. We don’t want your money. You’re worth much more than what you can give us. In the dim light I could make out his grey wiry hair and a grin with many teeth missing.

I turned and tried to run back into the woods. The pain in my feet made me falter and I fell. I expected hands to haul me to my feet, but instead a rush of air swept over me. I heard a man scream, a high-pitched terrifying wail, cut suddenly short. Scrambling to my feet, not daring to look back, I stumbled away as quickly as my legs would allow. The path back to town was behind me, and blocked by whatever was attacking the men. So I ran into the woods, jumping over small bushes and skidding on the floor. I dropped to my knees and scrambled under a tree with large overhanging branches.

Another cry followed by shouting and sounds of a fight. Then the fracas abruptly stopped, replaced by a deathly hush. I huddled in my shelter, hoping the thing had satisfied its bloodlust and wasn’t looking for more victims. I gripped the edges of my cloak; I’d found it while walking this part of the road. It gave me an odd  sense of comfort, even though it offered no protection against what had attacked those men.  I had a good idea of what that might be, and nothing— least of all a piece of clothing— would protect you from it.

Time dragged and my breathing and heartbeat started to slow. It seemed the thing had gone. My hope was dashed as a gentle hissing sound, coupled with breaking twigs, edged towards me. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Suddenly, I was back in the kitchen and Oliver was yelling at me.

Run Gwen, run!

There was no where left to run. I clutched at the cloak, shivering, and listened to death stalking its way towards me. The hissing got louder, punctuated by branches buckling under the weight of the hunter. Hopelessness welled in my chest and tears clumped my eyelashes. I pressed my lips together, not wanting to alert the thing coming for me, then covered my ears, trying to block out its approach. Cold air seeped through the gaps in my hiding place. I huddled inside, waiting for the inevitable.

My big brave girl, monsters only exist in fairy tales for children and silly hearts. They can’t really hurt you.

2

Through my hands I heard a series of piercing whistles and whatever was outside screamed—a loud, inhuman noise. Uncovering my ears, I heard the ricochet of popping twigs, along with a whirlwind of dry leaves being ripped and crushed. I dared to open my eyes a sliver. Suddenly, the branches of my den were thrown aside and a figure of a man crouched near me. His face was hidden by a mask and he wore an odd-shaped hat and black clothes. Before I could do anything he’d grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet, pulling me past the thrashing beast.

I couldn’t see it properly; it was tangled in a thick bush, black-tipped arrows sticking out of its bulk— we had seconds before it recovered. The man grabbed my other hand and squeezed it hard. The world shifted and the trees blurred, causing a sickening sensation that forced me to close my eyes. When I opened them, we were stood on a grassy verge by the side of the road. It was almost dawn and we seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, large fields all around separated by the road we stood next to.

Well, that was new. The man sounded surprised as he looked at his hands and then at our surroundings.

Although the world had stopped spinning, I still felt the blurry sensation and wobbled for a moment before flopping down on my backside on the verge.

The masked man crouched in front of me.

Are you all right? No holes where there shouldn’t be holes? He steadied my shoulders as he looked me up and down.

No I’m all good. I managed a wobbly smile.

Excellent. He sat back, resting his elbows on his knees while catching his breath. 

I drank in my new companion, the outfit with the hat and the odd whistling sound that had announced his arrival— it all added up.

You’re the Phantom Archer, I said.

The eyes smiled behind the mask; they were the colour of a blue summer sky and just as beautiful to stare at.

He inclined his head. At your service. And it’s Gwen, isn’t it?

Y...yes. How do you know?

The light faded from his eyes for a moment. I just do. He stood up. The same way I know we need to walk down this road to get you where you need to be. Are you all right to stand? He offered his gloved hand.

I let him help me to my feet and hobbled along beside him. I’d heard stories of this ghostly vigilante, impossible deeds told in hushed, excited tones late at night. Until now I’d thought he was purely a figment of people’s imagination, fuelled by ale and superstition. I stared at the man walking beside me and resisted the urge to poke him. He wasn’t as tall as I’d expected, but he was well-built and moved with the confidence of a seasoned fighter.

Thank you, I said.

Excuse me? The phantom glanced at me.

For saving me, from that thing. Do you know what it was?

My companion shook his head. Honestly, I have no idea, and I hope I never have to find out. He touched the top of the sword strapped to his belt and looked around as though checking no more beasts were about to jump out at us.

Me too. I took a breath. They’re dead, aren’t they? Those men?

The figure stopped and turned; the cloak clipped to his shoulder swished as he moved. He cocked his head to one side, assessing me for a few moments.

I think you know the answer to that. The voice was gentle, as it always is when people tell you what you don’t want to hear.

I nodded.

If it makes you feel any better, they weren’t particularly good people, he added.

It doesn’t.

And that’s what makes you a good person, Gwen: your compassion. Try to remember that.

I frowned. How do you know so much about me?

The man paused and took a breath, as though he was about to speak, but then shrugged and turned to continue walking along the road.

I can’t explain. It’s like this road— it feels familiar. I know where the pot holes are and there is a milestone just up there. He pointed ahead at a grassy knoll. But I can’t quite remember ever being here.

I glanced around at the fields.

Where are we going? I asked.

I’m not sure, but if we walk along this road long enough my friend will find you and help you.

Who’s your friend?

There was a moment’s pause and a brief frown crossed his brow before he answered. Trust me, you will like them. I get the feeling you two are a bit alike.

But you can’t tell me who they are? I thought you knew things.

I do—just not that. No one has all the answers, Gwen. There was an edge to his voice.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.

That’s all right. This isn’t exactly a normal situation. You know, you are quite brave for someone so young.

I’m older than I look. I’m not brave. I hid in a bush.

And ran from Oliver.

There is nothing wrong with hiding and surviving, and you strike me as a survivor, Gwen.

I sighed and looked around.

I thought you had a horse? A horse would be good. I don’t think my feet will be able to take me much further.

Yes, I do, did. The man shook his head in confusion. I just don’t have one right now, so we need to walk. Oh, curse the crows! He stopped so abruptly I nearly walked into him. 

What’s wrong? 

The Phantom Archer was staring at his hands, which seemed to be fading.

You’re leaving me?

The man glanced at the sky. It seems I’ve run out of time.

Where are you going?

I don’t know. He sounded worried and his image started to flicker and fade. But I do know you need to wait here and they will find you. Trust me, you will be fine. His voice echoed and faded away; I blinked and he was gone.

I stood staring at the space where he had stood, not quite believing I had just seen a man disappear before my eyes. I had heard the Phantom Archer could do this— appear and disappear in the blink of an eye. But I had thought it was an exaggeration or a clever trick on the behalf of whoever was playing the part of the vigilante.

Oliver had always believed.

I pushed the thought away and looked for shelter. There probably wasn’t a house for miles and my feet were in no state to do any walking.

I guess I don’t have a choice in waiting, I muttered.

I sat on the grass and watched my surroundings fully emerge from the darkness. It was that golden hour of the morning when the world is still full of peace. The sky was transforming into a bright spring blue, the odd puffball cloud drifting across it. It was going to be a sunny day—cold, but sunny. I could feel the chill of the ground seeping through the thick cloak. I looked up and down the road; it didn’t seem like help was coming any time soon. My toes started to feel numb and the cold was making me feel sleepy, so I stretched out on the grass and closed my eyes. My mother had told me once that you could die from the cold.

As I drifted to sleep, I heard Oliver’s voice.

Run, Gwen, run. 

3

I was standing in the kitchen again, my eyes drawn in morbid fascination to the scene in front of me.

The kitchen was pale in the evening light. Two candelabras cast rainbows of gold against the white walls, sectioned by the thick timber beams. Blackened arches were set into the walls on each side of the room. During the day, hungry fires licked the pots and the carcasses hung over them. Two people sat sweeping out the sooty ashes from these fire pits, one small, with blonde wisps escaping the hat that had flopped sideways as she worked; the other a little bigger, his hair as black as the remnants of the fire. 

Oliver, are you sure we are alone in here? the girl asked. You know they don’t like women in the kitchen.

Of course. Everyone’s pretty much left for the night. You know they always leave this kind of work to us.

True.

They swept in companionable quiet. I couldn’t smell it but the air would be laced with the lingering scent of broths and thick breads. I watched enviously as the boy shared the latest gossip going around the house. The candles flickered and I dared to hope that maybe this wasn’t a nightmare and history wasn’t going to repeat itself. A huge shadow passed the narrow window off to their right and my hope was replaced by sickness. The boy and girl were too busy to notice the momentary blocking of the twilight outside. It was pointless to warn them. The fact that I was standing with no pain and couldn’t smell the remains of the cooking meant I was here merely as an observer. Still, I tried anyway.

Hey! I shouted.

No response.

Hey! Look out the window. 

Still they didn’t acknowledge me. Instead, the girl laughed at the joke her friend had just told her.

I’m so glad I’ve got you, Oliver. You make this place bearable, she said, just like I had in those last moments we’d been together. 

I knew what was going to happen next and I couldn’t stop it. Squeezing my eyes shut, I dug my fingernails into the fleshy part of my palms, hoping the daggers of pain would wake me from this nightmare. I opened my eyes and found myself still in the kitchen. I wanted to look away or escape out the door. But my feet were rooted to the floor, forcing me to watch the tragedy about to play out in front of me. It started with a slow scraping sound, the way a branch might scratch a panel of glass in a storm. This, however, sounded sharper, more like a nail.

What was that? The girl glanced over her shoulder.

Nothing—probably the wind. Oliver shrugged his shoulders.

Another noise— this time the scratch was louder, as though the cuts were deeper.  The girl looked at her friend, who nodded, confirming he’d heard it too and they both stood up looking in the direction the noise had come from.

What do you think it was? the girl whispered.

Maybe a tree?

The door burst open with a shattering bang. The girl let out an involuntary scream. A blast of air blew out the candles on one of the tables, cutting the light from one side of the room. The thing responsible filled the entrance way, the semi-darkness making its huge frame black against the few flickering candles.

At first I thought it was a bear with a thick shaggy coat, sharp claws and a snout with long teeth. I’d only seen pictures of bears on posters and this creature was far bigger than I expected to see in real life. Then, as it turned its head to look at the two people struck dumb by its entrance, I saw the glow of its eyes, a fiery yellow burning bright, and guessed this creature was something more than a bear. 

The beast roared and bounded into the room, thick claws scraping the floor. The girl screamed, but the sound was cut short as her friend grabbed her and pushed her towards the small window at the side of the room.

Get it open! he yelled as he grabbed a table, overturning it to use as a makeshift wall, in the hope of holding back the beast.

The girl pulled at the holdings on the window. It’s stuck! Panic added volume and pitch to her voice.

Do something or we are both done for! Oliver yelled back.

He had managed to lift the heavy table and pin the beast against a wall, trapping the clawed limbs by its side. It was pushing back and the young man’s feet were slipping on the cobbled floor. The girl threw herself against the window and it burst open.

Got it! she yelled and glanced at her friend. Come on, Oliver.

Run, Gwen, run! There is no way I can hold this thing back and come with you. Go and raise the alarm.

At that moment the creature managed to free an appendage and took a wild swipe. The blow killed instantly; red spray arched across the room. The girl covered her mouth with both hands as