‘Who are the High Lords?’ Thomas looked at the fire-crowned woman gazing down at him.
The woman smiled. ‘De Danann would be a term more familiar to your ears.’
So the Ard Tiarnai were the De Danann! The builders of the sidhe and the Way Gates. The woman seemed to emanate power, the Old Power. Thomas could sense it all around her. He’d always felt it now that he thought about it, ever since he’d had his first dream of the serpent. But now he recognized it for what it was. Not fear. Power.
Thomas looked back at his statue-like friends. ‘Have you stopped time?’
The woman seemed amused, and the fire above her head shifted slightly as she moved her head. ‘No, it is not within the power of even the De Danann to do that. Let us say that the perception of time has altered for us.’ She looked down then to the small Gruagach upon the floor. ‘Ghillie Dhu?’
‘Yes, My Lady?’ Ghillie answered.
‘I charge you to teach Thomas. Teach him of the Old Power that is his,’ she instructed.
Ghillie nodded his head eagerly. ‘Ghillie will, My Lady.’
She turned back to Thomas. ‘Maithfreond will tell you of your father, tell him Brigid asks that the fallen speak. He will know what to do.’
Thomas frowned. ‘Maithfreond?’
But Brigid had began to grow brighter and fade into that brightness, her shape becoming less defined as the intensity increased. Thomas became slowly aware of his surroundings again. And suddenly his friends were around him.
‘Thomas!’ Jessica shouted excitedly. ‘You did it!’
The others were just as vocal, all praising him, but Thomas kept on casting his eyes about the floor. Ghillie it seemed had had the presence of mind to disappear before anyone had seen him.
‘Those were some dogs!’ Penders exclaimed. ‘I thought we were goners for sure when that one broke through. If it wasn’t for your marbles —’
‘We’d all be dead,’ Thomas finished and everyone looked at him.
Jessica gave Thomas a big hug. ‘I suppose this means I need to get you yet another bag for your marbles!’
‘Thomas,’ a deep voice called. It was Gallowglas. ‘Over here.’
Thomas’s friends moved aside as Thomas walked over to Gallowglas. The teacher bent over Trevelyan, supporting his head. Thomas knelt down so that his eyes were level with Trevelyan’s. The High Cap’s face looked pale, his eyes dim, but he managed a weak smile before he spoke.
‘You did well, lad.’
Thomas smiled. ‘Thank you, sir. How are you feeling?’
But Trevelyan closed his eyes and made no reply.
— CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE —
The Tomb of Arghadmon
The Headmaster’s two-week long sick leave wasn’t something the students of Darkledun Manor had thought too much about. After all, everyone got struck down by something now and again. Of course, only Thomas, Jessica, Merideah, Treice and Penders knew exactly what had struck him down — a seven-foot tall, one-handed, dark enchanter wearing a pair of enormous antlers. The news had begun to filter down to the Family History Club, but from the snippets of conversation Thomas and the others heard, they only knew that the High Cap had been attacked and hurt. Gallowglas had sworn Thomas and his friends to secrecy regarding all that had happened in the cavern, so they were unable to say anything.
The Club had been attending their normal lessons at the Grange, but Thomas and the others hadn’t been allowed to set foot in Avallach since Gallowglas had sent them back to the Manor after the healing of the Northern Way Gate. Jessica had asked Miss Havelock about their lessons at the Academy. She’d been told that it was best to stay away until ‘things have been decided’ — whatever that meant. Thomas shook his head at the thought. He was as frustrated as Jessica. And he’d even more reason to be. What had happened to him that final day in Avallach wouldn’t be easily forgotten. Part of his reason for being there had been revealed to him, and now he’d been shut out.
Thomas continued down the unlit passageway, passing the corridor leading to 2B, and making for the early morning light that spilled through the open door ahead. He’d come by full of hope at this time every morning for the last fortnight, but that hope had failed as the days had passed. Maybe Trevelyan was dying. Maybe he’d been permanently hurt and was now confined to a wheelchair, if they had wheelchairs in Avallach. Miss Havelock had only told Thomas that the Headmaster was still weak. That was a week ago. Stanwell knew nothing more, and Gallowglas remained as silent as a stone.
Thomas reached the Headmaster’s office and peered through the half-open door. The desk remained unoccupied, as it had every time he’d come. Thomas turned to go, convinced he’d got up early for nothing again, but then he heard someone humming. Thomas didn’t recognize the tune, but he recognized the hummer. Thomas turned back and poked his head through the door. There, bearing a tray upon which sat a plate of biscuits and two glasses of milk, stood Mr Trevelyan. His countenance and eyes were back to their normal brightness, both vying for supremacy over the bright clothes he wore.
‘Well, ’blige me, don’t stand there with wide eyes all day,’ Mr Trevelyan said, as he placed the tray on his desk. ‘I’ve brought some chocolate-chip biscuits and milk to fill that open mouth of yours!’
Almost without thinking, Thomas ran and threw his arms around the waist of the old man. ‘I knew you’d be OK. I knew!’
Mr Trevelyan gently pulled Thomas from his lime-coloured waistcoat and looked him in the eye.
‘I’m sorry for —’ Thomas began, tears rolling down his cheeks and finding it hard to get the words out of his mouth ‘— for all the trouble I’ve caused.’
Trevelyan smiled. ‘Thomas, what you did needs no apology, indeed it needs some praise. We’ve already sent scouts out to see if we can make contact with the Dwerugh — and I think there’s one person in the Grange who will be especially happy to know that he can visit his kith and kin again!’
‘Dugan?’ Thomas said.
‘Yes, and to be honest I think many others at the Grange will be happy for him to visit the Dwerughnook too.’ Trevelyan winked.
Thomas smiled, but the happy thought of Dugan visiting his people was immediately replaced by a darker one. ‘What about Cernunnos? Won’t he be waiting?’
Trevelyan straightened his tie. ‘After what happened at the Way Gate, he’ll think twice before attacking without an army behind him.’
Thomas wiped his eyes and felt his contact lenses press against his pupils. By Gallowglas’s order, Thomas had put in his spare ones as soon as he got back to the Manor. ‘What would’ve happened if I failed?’
‘The Outer Circle of the Grange would have fallen to Cernunnos, and those who survived would’ve been trapped behind the Inner Gate for the rest of their lives while all about them the Free Peoples of Avallach would have succumb to the Horned One’s malice.’
Thomas swallowed hard.
Trevelyan took his seat behind his desk. ‘Was there another question?’
‘Yes.’ Thomas sat down opposite the Headmaster. ‘You knew I had the Glass all along?’
Trevelyan nodded. ‘Yes, the representative of your father’s estate informed me that it had been left to you.’
Thomas bit his lip. ‘I saw one of the De Danann, in the Way Gate. She said her name was Brigid.’
Trevelyan picked up a biscuit, and indicated for Thomas to do the same. ‘Yes, I thought she’d come to you eventually.’
Thomas picked up a glass of milk. ‘She spoke about someone called Maithfreond. Do you know who that is?’
‘It’s a terrible mouthful isn’t it? I don’t know what my parents were thinking. It’s why I prefer ‘Trevelyan’.’
‘You’re Maithfreond?’ Thomas suddenly remembered the invitation letter he’d received last year — it was signed ‘M. Trevelyan’.
The Headmaster nodded and smiled.
‘She said that the ‘fallen must speak’. She said you’d know what to do.’
Trevelya
n didn’t answer for a while. ‘Yes, I suppose that would be best now, considering all that’s happened.’
‘You know her then? You’ve seen her?’ Thomas bit into a biscuit.
‘Once, yes. But let’s speak of this elsewhere.’ He pulled some keys from his jacket and led Thomas quietly to 2B. It wasn’t until they were on Cnocmorandolmen that he spoke to Thomas again.
‘This sidhe, the walls of which you see before you, once belonged to the De Danann — to Brigid to be exact. She surrendered the Grange to our stewardship nine years ago. Without this refuge, this haven of learning and arena of training, I think it safe to say our cause would have suffered greatly, perhaps even have been lost by now.’
Thomas looked from the walls back to the Headmaster. ‘But what’s this got to do with me?’
‘Well, to answer that you must allow me to follow the final instructions that Brigid gave to me nine years ago.’ Trevelyan moved down the hill and beckoned Thomas to follow.
They were soon inside the coach house. The Darkledun carriage had all but been repaired, as had the building itself. Several of the small white-furred hodge-pockers worked on the final touches to the coaches. On seeing the High Cap they seemed to become excited, but Trevelyan calmed them down and they got back to work. Trevelyan led Thomas to a dun horse that stood saddled and waiting outside one of the stalls. It looked like the one they’d ridden two weeks ago. The Headmaster mounted and then helped Thomas up into the saddle behind him. Trevelyan rode slowly, but they were soon inside the Inner Gate and trotting down the road that led to the Academy.
Thomas looked at Muddlestump Wood as they passed it by and he wondered what had happened to Ghillie Dhu. He’d not seen — or felt — him since leaving the Northern Way Gate. Perhaps the experience had scared the Gruagach? Perhaps this time, if he’d managed to get through the Inner Gate, he really had gone back to Muddlestump? But what of his promise to Brigid to teach Thomas about the Old Power? Thomas couldn’t believe he’d disobey her.
It wasn’t long before they arrived at the Hall of Arghadmon. Trevelyan led Thomas to the fireplace at the far western end of the room. ‘Here’s the entrance.’
Thomas glanced at the fireplace. ‘The entrance to what?’
‘To the place of the fallen. You’ll need to use the Glass of course.’
Thomas pulled the Glass from his pocket. He’d yet to find a new bag for his marbles, so they lay at the Manor in his small chest-of-drawers. ‘You’re not coming with me?’
The Headmaster shook his head. ‘No, Thomas. I’ll wait here for you.’
The Glass glowed as Thomas stepped into the ashes. Suddenly the fireplace flared into life, and for a moment Thomas thought he might be burned alive, but the flames disappeared as soon as they had come, and, with them, Trevelyan and the Hall of Arghadmon. Thomas found himself looking across a marble floor and up smooth pale grey walls. He stepped out of the fireplace into a small chamber about half as wide as it was long. Both ends sported large windows made not of web, but of stained glass. Thomas wondered why he’d never seen the windows from outside the Academy before. Many scenes and vistas dotted the panes, but the central figures in each were clear. The window to his left bore the image of a silver-scaled serpent with a flame of fire above it in the shape of a crown. In the other window stood a tall, silver-haired man clad in armour of the darkest blue and bearing in his hands a large sword. His green-stained eyes seemed to flash at Thomas as the sun cast its early morning beams through the window. Fabula’s description had been vivid enough for Thomas to recognize the image before him as that of Arghadmon, but the storyteller had never mentioned his green eyes. Then the image of the green-eyed warrior came back into his mind — the one he’d seen in the dream in the Hall of Tales — and he realized that it was Arghadmon he had seen on that dreamworld battlefield.
A large stone block dominated the floor of the chamber. Almost as tall as Thomas, it measured twice his length, and its top had been carved into the likeness of a man in sleep. Thomas instantly recognized the armour and sword from the stained-glass window. This was the tomb of Arghadmon, the former owner of the buildings that made up the Academy. Thomas put his hand out to touch the stone. It was cold. He then saw that there were words inscribed upon the side facing him. He couldn’t read them at first, but then the Glass in his hand shone a little brighter and its glow touched the strange glyphs and their meaning suddenly became clear:
Here Lies Fearghal, Son of Brigid, Returned At Last to the Hollow Hills
Thomas stepped back, removing his hand from the stone. This was his father’s tomb! The knowledge sunk into him like a chainless anchor. How could Fearghal and Arghadmon be the same person? Thomas refused to believe it, but the silver-blond hair and green eyes in the window bore testimony to the truth of it. Thomas had always supposed Arghadmon to be a Humbalgog or perhaps related to the Alfar, but, now he came to think about it, Fabula had never mentioned his race. As Brigid’s son he would be De Danann, but how could that be? The De Danann supposedly withdrew to their sidhe hundreds of years ago and had no more to do with Avallach. He didn’t understand.
His eyes rested upon the stone carving. The image of his father. The face was strong, yet kind, and above it sat two serpent heads, the bodies of which ran down the length of the tomb until the tails wrapped about a carving of an open book just beneath the feet. He traced the carvings with his hand. More symbols adorned the great sword clasped between the two stone hands. He reached out to touch the blade, but the edge, undulled by time, cut his finger. He winced and put his finger in his mouth. How could it be so sharp? He followed the line of the great sword as he moved down the tomb until his eyes caught hold of the open book. Blank stone pages stared back at him. Why would there be no words for such a great leader and warrior? Maybe the tomb hadn’t been finished before being hidden away? Thomas ran his hand over their smooth surface as if to confirm that they really were blank, but in so doing his finger left a trail of blood upon the stone-carved page. He wiped the stone, but the blood remained. He wiped it again, this time with his sleeve, but the stain on the book didn’t go away.
Thomas stared at the page. He felt like he’d just desecrated his father’s tomb. Then he watched as the blood began to form into lines and then into writing, just like the Blood Parchment. Fearghal’s name appeared on the page, then Brigid’s above it, and then above that others until it reached the top of the page where the name Danu winked into sight. Unlike the Blood Parchment, the writing glowed brightly as the tree completed, then, as if in response, a voice, deep, gentle, and familiar, filled the room.
‘Thomas, son.’
Thomas looked around. The voice came from the walls, just like in Master Fabula’s Hall of Tales.
‘You now know the truth of who you are. I am sorry it had to be this way. I am sorry your mother and I could not be there for you,’ the voice continued.
It was his father’s voice — he remembered it now from when he was a child. ‘Father?’
‘What you now hear are my last words to you, spoken before my death. Listen carefully, for you shall not hear my voice again in this world.’
Thomas looked to the image of Arghadmon in the stained-glass window. The eyes seemed to be looking at him.
‘There is something I would have you know. I sent you to the Otherside for your protection. I have asked faithful Erendrake to look out for you, and Brigid, your grandmother, will do what she can. You may trust them both, but you must learn to trust yourself too, and that may prove the harder task. The Gloine Nathair, should you desire it, will guide and aid you until you are its master. Only those of De Danann blood may wield it. Let it be your guide, day and night, and it will teach you things that I am no longer able to do. Farewell, Thomas. Son.’
The voice faded and Thomas saw the blood on the page do the same. Then words seemed to rise up through the page, words not of blood but of stone:
Here Lies Fearghal, Son of Brigid, Husband of Eleanor, Father of Thomas, Returned At
Last to the Hollow Hills
‘No! Wait!’ Thomas cried, sensing the presence of the voice leave. ‘Father?’
But there was no reply, not even when he fell to the floor and wept…
Thomas wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he eventually stumbled out of the fireplace and back into the Hall of Arghadmon where Trevelyan still waited, hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t speak, but looked at Thomas as if waiting for him to say something.
Thomas turned and made his way silently toward the back wall. Lifting the Glass, he pressed it against the panelling and the chamber hiding the Blood Parchment opened to their view.
A look of pleasant surprise filled Trevelyan's countenance. ‘Well, bless my soul! It’s amazing what one can find behind a wall! If I’m not very much mistaken, that’s the Blood Parchment.’
Thomas nodded.
The Headmaster looked at Thomas thoughtfully. ‘Ah, I see. You are wondering why nothing happened when you placed a drop of your blood upon it?’
Thomas nodded again, still unable to form his thoughts into words.
‘The Blood Parchment was created long after the De Danann departed. The blood of that people, and indeed of Men, cannot be detected by it. It was made to discern the mortal races of Avallach alone.’
Well, that explained that, thought Thomas, but he still had more questions. ‘I don’t understand. How can Fearghal and Arghadmon be the same person?’
‘Ah,’ Trevelyan began, ‘that’s easily explained. Arghadmon’s a title the people gave him because of his long, silver-blond hair. I don’t think many knew his real name.’
Thomas watched as the chamber of the Blood Parchment disappeared. Then his eyes wandered up to the fire-wreathed crown on the wall. It made sense now. ‘My father said someone called Erendrake would look out for me.’ Thomas looked at the Glass still in his hand. ‘He’s the person in charge of my father’s estate, isn’t he?’
The High Cap didn’t answer, but turned and looked at the painting across the room on the far wall, the painting of the fortress on a hill. ‘As you must now realize, your father’s estate includes the Fortress of Arghadmon.’
The Serpent in the Glass (The Tale of Thomas Farrell) Page 29
