by Nimmo, Jenny
Karli and Sila came creeping out of the trees. ‘But, sir,’ Karli said, ‘you can make another magic wall.’
‘Yes, Eri,’ said Sila. ‘You can make our castle vanish, can’t you?’
‘It isn’t even a castle,’ muttered the wizard.
‘It will be,’ Timoken told him.
The other children began to emerge from the trees. They gathered round Timoken and the wizard, questioning and chattering in low, urgent voices.
‘What shall we do now?’
‘Will the soldiers come back?’
‘How can we build a castle?’
‘Where will we sleep tonight?’
Timoken put his hands over his ears. ‘Aaargh!’ he growled. ‘Be quiet. I can’t think.’
‘We are not as loud as you, Timoken,’ said Thorkil coolly.
‘Quiet, everyone!’ Eri lifted his staff and the voices dropped to an occasional mutter.
Timoken’s hands fell to his sides. ‘We are not going to let the conquerors stop us from building our castle,’ he said.
There was an enthusiastic murmur of agreement. Elfrieda was the only one to raise a question. ‘As I said,’ – she glanced at Enid – ‘I refuse to go up there,’ – she pointed to the tumble of stones high above – ‘sitting on a row of spikes. So how are we going to get there?’
‘Like this!’ Timoken seized Elfrieda round the waist, lifted her off the ground and carried her, screaming and kicking, over the river and up to the top of the cliff.
‘You brute!’ shrieked Elfrieda as Timoken dropped her gently on the ground.
Laughter from the children below made her angrier than ever. She raised her arm, ready to strike Timoken, but he bounded out of reach, climbing up the pile of stones with light, half-flying leaps. Elfrieda scrambled after him, yelling, ‘You won’t get away with this, you rude, ignorant oaf!’
Timoken danced around the top of the pile while Elfrieda pulled herself up, now falling back as the great stones shifted beneath her, now clawing herself closer to the top. And then, at last, she was there. She lunged at Timoken, he leapt back and, all at once, he was rolling down into the darkness. With one long, terrified wail, Elfrieda rolled beside him, until they reached the bottom of a stony slope.
Timoken rubbed his eyes. It wasn’t so dark after all. The ground was soft, like a carpet. He got to his feet. A low lamp was burning on a distant table. Beside him, Elfrieda sat up with a groan.
‘What happened?’ she moaned.
‘We fell through a hole.’
‘I gathered that, but how can there be a . . . a room under all those stones?’
Timoken shrugged. He looked about him. He saw carpets on a far wall, their colours muted in the dim light. He saw a couch covered in cloth of gold and silken cushions; he saw a marble floor veined in gold; his parents’ golden room. ‘It’s still here,’ he said.
‘What’s still here?’ Elfrieda stood up, rubbing her bottom.
‘The castle,’ said Timoken. He stared up at the circle of light at the top of the slope. ‘It was only the outer walls that crumbled, and the four towers. They were much higher than the roof. They just fell on top of it.’
‘And through it,’ Elfrieda pointed at the rubble lying on the rug where they stood.
‘But it won’t be so difficult to rebuild,’ said Timoken.
‘Huh!’ was Elfrieda’s only reply.
They crawled carefully up the ramp of fallen stones and climbed out of the opening. As soon as they appeared there was a cry of relief from the crowd far below.
‘We thought you were gone!’ shouted Eri.
‘The castle’s still here!’ Timoken happily replied. ‘Underneath all this!’ He kicked the stones beneath his feet. ‘But we can live here while we build.’
Elfrieda gave a long sigh, which the others never heard.
Leaving Elfrieda to grumble, Timoken flew down to pick up the others. First came Sila. When Timoken returned for his next passenger, Eri said, ‘Enid’s spikes are not so sharp on her neck. If you sit just behind her head . . .’ he beckoned Enid and she ambled over to him. The wizard pulled himself up to sit on her neck. Adjusting his robes and wincing very slightly, he said, ‘Girls might have to sit side-saddle, like me. Boys on the other hand . . .’
‘I’ll try,’ said Karli eagerly.
‘You next, then, Karli!’ Eri clicked his tongue twice and, flapping her wings, Enid carried the wizard over the river and up to the top of the cliff.
Two of the new girls, Aldwith and Azura, looked uncertain. ‘That didn’t look comfortable,’ said Aldwith. Azura agreed.
But when the dragon came back, all the boys were eager to take their first ride on a dragon, and so was Esga.
Karli climbed on first. ‘It’s good,’ he called as Enid carried him aloft. ‘Her spikes don’t hurt, they’re kind of springy.’
Azura and Aldwith weren’t convinced. They waited for Timoken.
Night was falling fast and starlight cast few shadows. When all the children had been carried to the cliff-top, they stood looking down at the forest. The excited chatter that had followed their first experience of flying had been replaced by an awed silence. Below them, an immense sea of trees reached to the horizon; a dark world that merged with the infinity of a sky studded with distant mysterious stars. The children who had lost everything knew, without even looking at each other, that their lives had changed. They had taken an enormous leap into the unknown, into a life on the edge of enchantment.
‘Let us go beneath,’ the wizard said quietly.
‘This way.’ Timoken began to climb the pile of stones. ‘Be careful,’ he warned as he took light steps across the top of the ruin. ‘Ah, here it is!’ he exclaimed as his foot found the edge of the opening.
‘Don’t go too fast,’ said Elfrieda, ‘or you’ll be rolling over boulders all the way, like I did.’
As each one approached, Timoken took their hands and let them slide gently into the hole, and then down the stony slope into the room below. When they were all inside he bounded deftly over the ruin until he could see Gabar standing below.
‘D’you want to come up?’ Timoken called softly.
‘Dragon and I are staying here,’ Gabar replied.
‘Good night then, Gabar.’ As Timoken turned away, he suddenly remembered something. With one leap he was in the air and flying down to the camel.
‘I thought you had forgotten,’ said Gabar, as Timoken removed his saddle and the baskets hanging either side of him.
‘I had,’ Timoken admitted. He slipped off the camel’s head harness saying, ‘There, you’ll sleep better now.’
‘Mmm.’ The camel trotted into the trees where the dim shape of a dragon could be seen, her head lowered in sleep.
Timoken took the baskets and the hare-skin saddle back into the room below the rubble. They were all waiting for him. Most of them stood in a group, uncertain what to do next. Thorkil and Elfrieda had wandered to the far end of the room. Here, the soft light from the lamp played on the rich colours of the carpets hanging on the wall; Timoken remembered those carpets and he remembered the lamp, casting its glow on his parents’ smiling faces. But who had kept the light burning? Were his spirit ancestors still close?
The wizard walked over to the couch. He sat down, placed the plump silk cushions at one end and laid his head on them. Lifting his feet on to the couch he bid them good night, and closed his eyes.
The children stared at the sleeping wizard.
Karli said, ‘I’m hungry.’
Timoken took a handful of nuts from one of the baskets and began to multiply. Too tired even to talk, the others sat in a circle and passed the nuts round. The sound of cracking shells echoed through the golden room. Timoken wondered what his mother and father would have made of it all. He could sense their presence, feel their gaze upon him. Before the tears came to his eyes, he found himself smiling.
One by one, the children left the circle and found a place in the room where they could s
leep. Timoken was the only one left awake. He took out the helmet that had belonged to the Ravenglass soldier and began to multiply. He worked on until he had two hundred helmets, then he began to multiply the spears. When he had completed one hundred and fifty-nine, he fell asleep.
Three hours passed before dawn light spilled past broken beams and down the sloping shaft of stones.
Timoken woke up. He could hear movement in the room behind him. He rolled over and saw the wizard tapping the row of helmets with his staff.
‘What’s all this, boy?’ Eri gave Timoken one of his disapproving stares. ‘Are you trying to make soldiers of these poor children?’
Timoken yawned and sat up. ‘No, Eri. But the Ravenglass soldiers might come back.’
‘Oh, they will. No doubt about that.’ Eri scowled. ‘They’ll want to know what’s going on here. If the king gets to know of a new castle in his realm, he’ll send an army.’
‘So you’ll make a spell wall for us,’ Timoken said brightly. ‘And no one will be able to see our castle – ever, unless you want them to.’
‘What d’you think I am?’ Eri said crossly. ‘It would take a week to make a place like this invisible.’ He waved his staff about and stamped his foot.
The children began to wake up. They gazed at their new surroundings, now becoming clearer in the morning light. Some had forgotten how they came to be there. When they saw the line of helmets and the pile of spears they became even more confused. The wizard’s angry voice unsettled them and they moved together for safety.
Thorkil woke later than the others. Immediately, he was on his feet and demanding to know how so many helmets had found their way into the castle. ‘Have you killed an army and hidden their bodies?’ he asked Timoken.
Timoken grinned. ‘Nothing like that!’ He told them where he had got the first helmet, and then explained why he had made so many.
Eri sat on the golden couch and listened with a disgruntled expression.
‘We must move the stones on the roof, so that they form a sort of wall,’ said Timoken. ‘A wall with openings, like the battlements on the conquerors’ castles. In every gap we’ll place a helmet with a spear beside it . . .’
‘Yes!’ cried Wyngate. ‘And if the conquerors come, they’ll think there’s an army here.’
‘They’ll send for reinforcements,’ Thorkil objected. ‘And then what hope would we have of keeping our new home?’ He looked at the mound of rubble, and added, ‘Such as it is.’
‘Then I’ll bring a storm,’ said Timoken.
They stared at him for a moment, disbelieving, and Thorkil said, with a half-smile, ‘I bet it will be a mighty storm at that.’
Eri got up from the couch. ‘I need the girls,’ he said. ‘All of them; to find meadowsweet and gorse, rowanberries, willow herb, ground elder, flowering nettles, dame’s violet . . . come on!’ He began to climb the tumble of stones; Sila followed him, then Esga. The two other girls, Azura and Aldwith, looked at each other and then at Elfrieda.
‘You heard the wizard,’ said Elfrieda. ‘Let’s go. We can find breakfast on the way.’
This seemed to cheer them up and they eagerly climbed after her.
When Eri and the girls had gone, Timoken led the boys on to the roof. It would be dangerous work, he realised, looking at the mounds of large red stones. At any moment, a pile of them might drop through the roof, taking one of the boys with them. If only his spirit ancestors were there to help, but Timoken wasn’t sure how to call them, or even if they would do what he asked.
‘Watch your feet,’ he warned as he began to heave a stone off the top of a pile.
It was hard work. The Ravenglass stones were heavy and difficult to manoeuvre into place. But by midday, they had built a wall of stones facing east where the soldiers had come from. The wall ran the whole length of the castle that lay beneath. As they sat back, rubbing their aching hands, a delicious smell of cooking wafted up to them.
Eri emerged from the trees and looked up at the rough wall that rose out of the rubble.
‘Well done,’ he called. ‘Enid has brought you a meal.’
They scrambled down and stuffed the cooked fish into their mouths, careless of the bones, and almost choking on the skin. Enid had brought four fish today. Eri was proud of her. He kept his eye on everyone, just to make sure they all had their fair share.
After their meal, the boys had strength only to build another half of a wall. Timoken chose the south side, above the entrance with its great, carved doors, now hidden in the rubble. Snatches of Eri’s chanting carried up to them on a wind that was freshening every minute, as the sun began its slow descent.
The girls returned with fingers stained by leaves and flower stems. Eri carried a large bundle of herbs, bound together with ivy. After another meal of fish-bone soup, they clambered, shivering, into the golden room, and there Timoken sat and patiently multiplied Sila’s hare-skin blanket. By the time he had finished, some of the children were already asleep. The wizard helped Timoken to cover them, and then climbed onto the couch and began to snore.
For a while, Timoken stared at the flickering oil lamp. Where had the oil come from? Who had lit it? There could only be one answer. The Damzel of Decay might have disturbed his ancestors but she hadn’t entirely banished them. They were still here.
Life continued in the same way for three days. At the end of the third day, a rough wall had been erected all round the roof of the tumbledown building. Before they went to bed that night, Timoken and the boys placed the helmets in the gaps between the stones. Beside the helmets they laid the spears, their metal tips pointing outwards.
When Timoken returned, he found the wizard lying on the couch. He seemed utterly exhausted. Timoken brought him a tankard of water and he drank it thirstily.
‘A pity this isn’t the Water of Life, eh, boy?’ Eri’s storm-cloud eyes flashed briefly and then he gave a long sigh. ‘This task has all but stolen my life away,’ he said, ‘and the wall is not yet finished.’
‘Tomorrow we’ll all help,’ said Timoken.
‘Tomorrow,’ sighed the wizard. ‘That’s as maybe,’ and he closed his eyes.
Timoken had one more task. He took the chain-mail tunic out of the basket and began to multiply. When he had thirteen tunics, he wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down. He pressed his cheek against the carpet that his bare feet had touched almost three hundred years before, and he fell asleep.
A little before dawn, the castle shuddered, and the wizard woke up. He could hear a thunder of hooves approaching from the east.
‘Not ready! Not ready!’ muttered the wizard. He dragged himself off the couch and went to wake Timoken.
Chapter Seventeen
Ravenglass Soldiers
‘They’re coming!’ shouted Eri.
Timoken already ached from three days of lifting stones, and the wizard’s violent shaking made him groan with pain. He rolled over, clutching his shoulder.
‘They’re coming,’ roared Eri. ‘Wake up. We must defend ourselves.’
The other children were all awake now. They scrambled to their feet, rubbing their eyes, yawning and grumbling.
‘Up! Up!’ commanded the wizard. ‘Man the battlements. Take care not to be seen, but throw those spears as accurately as you can.’
‘First, the chain mail.’ Timoken pointed to the pile of dimly gleaming tunics. With dazed expressions, the children pulled them over their heads and Timoken led them up the ramp of stones and out on to the roof.
‘Where’s your armour, Timoken?’ called Sila.
‘I have my cloak,’ he said. ‘Keep your heads down. We don’t want them to know we’re children.’
‘Or get an arrow in our skulls,’ muttered Thorkil.
They could hear gruff voices, the jingle of harnesses and the snorting and stamping of many horses. Timoken took a quick peak round one of the helmets, and his heart sank.
A long row of mounted soldiers was emerging from the trees on the eastern side
of the ruined castle. They were well prepared for battle in chain mail, breastplates and helmets. Swords hung from their belts and those that did not carry shields or spears were armed with long bows and sacks of arrows.
‘Are there many?’ asked Eri, on his hands and knees behind Timoken.
‘A great many. Perhaps two hundred.’
The wizard closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘Too many,’ he muttered.
The wizard’s choked voice made Timoken shudder. He hadn’t known such a moment of doubt for a long time. In the heartless grey light, Eri looked old and utterly exhausted. He appeared to have lost all the youthful strength that he had gained behind the first wall of spells. And he was not wearing any armour.
Timoken watched the others crawl across the stones and crouch behind the empty helmets. He wondered why he had brought them all to this place. They could have lived safely in the forest for the rest of their lives. What had given him this restless yearning for a castle?
An arrow flew over Timoken’s head and embedded itself between two stones. This was not a time for reflection. Bent double, he ran to the nearest spear and hurled it at the enemy below. There was a loud bellow, and a rain of arrows came out of the sky. The children hugged the walls. Not one of them screamed. They glanced at the fallen arrows, seized their spears and flung them.
In answer, a cloud of arrows darkened the sky. The children flattened themselves against the stones and then ran to seize another spear as the lethal arrowheads fell behind them.
Timoken raced from one helmet to another, hurling spears into the enemy below. But he had a horrible suspicion that they were falling uselessly to the ground. He began to wonder if it was only the stationary helmets that were deterring the soldiers from climbing up the stones. Soon they would realize that the two hundred helmets were empty.
A few moments later, Timoken’s fears were realised. Peering through one of the openings, he saw that some of the soldiers had dismounted; with drawn swords they were now approaching the mountain of stones.
‘We only have twelve spears left,’ Thorkil shouted. He, too, had seen the advancing soldiers.
