by Helen Jones
Fear started to curl in Alma’s stomach. ‘You mean, you want me to go back to that place? I mean, I don’t even know where it is…’ she trailed off, her heart starting to pound at the thought of the dark valley.
‘I do,’ said Thorion, his face alight with hope. ‘Now that I have heard your description, I know exactly where it is and how to get there. We just need your help, if you will, to find the precise place where the Sword, and Lord Gwion, were lost.’ He looked at Alma, his handsome features becoming sympathetic as he took in her disquiet. ‘I can see that this is frightening for you, Alma,’ he went on, his voice gentle, his eyes holding hers, ‘but we will let no harm come to you, I promise. Caleb,’ he said, turning to the boy. ‘Can I also trust in your help with this?’
As Caleb nodded, Alma realised what Thorion meant and felt her stomach lurch with fear again. The Dark. Great. She was already not one of their favourite people. She knew that the Dark had been marking her, but she also knew that they had not yet moved against her because of Thorion’s declaration before the Council. But now the game had changed. Once any of their kind found out that she had all the information in hand to find the Sword – well, she didn’t fancy her chances of getting back to the Gate in one piece, Thorion’s protection notwithstanding.
He was still waiting, courteously, for her to respond and Alma looked at him, then at Caleb, both of them trying so hard not to influence her decision. It didn’t help, really – in a way she wanted them to insist, to make her help them. Choosing was a lot harder than it sounded, especially when she felt sick with fear at the thought of going back to the hidden valley and its dark shapes. She just had to trust that they would look after her and she knew, despite her fear, that it was the right thing to do. Summoning her courage, she spoke. ‘Okay,’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘Thank you, Alma,’ replied Thorion, letting out a held breath as though in relief. ‘If you will,’ he had said earlier. Alma saw that up until that moment, until she had spoken, the choice truly had been hers. Had she chosen not to co-operate, there was nothing the Light could or would do to make her. The choice had to be made freely or not at all. She was not so sure that the Dark felt the same way. And with thoughts of the Dark, lay thoughts of Deryck. Alma pulled herself away from that line of imagining, back to the present moment and the two who sat with her in the herb garden, their eyes bright with hope.
‘Let us go now to the Great Hall, where I will need you to tell your story again, Alma,’ said Thorion. ‘I will summon certain of the other Elders to join us and we can decide on the best course of action together.’
Alma nodded, then got to her feet. She started to move towards the path but Thorion stopped her, coming to link his arm with hers.
‘Caleb,’ he said, inclining his head. Caleb immediately stepped ahead of them both onto the path leading out of the knot garden and Alma realised with surprise that he was scouting ahead, making sure none had overheard their conversation and that the route they would take to the Hall was safe. Keeping Alma close, Thorion moved with such haste through the gardens that she had to run to keep up with him. As soon as they reached the Palace he sent guards fanning out through the Foyer, moving between the columns to clear the space and ensure no one was there. Then he turned to Alma and Caleb who stood close together as if for comfort, both a little stunned by the speed of events.
‘Please, if you will, wait here a moment while I summon the others. Then shall we go to the Crystal Chamber.’
The Closed Gate
Thorion stepped alone into the Great Hall, multi-coloured light from the long windows moving across him as he strode to the centre of the room, the centre of their world. This was a chance for the Light – he could not let it fail. He needed to tread carefully and, above all, discreetly. He would have to choose wisely from the Circle, for only a few could know of this story before the mission was undertaken to retrieve the Sword. Breathing deeply, tapping into the power built into the stones beneath his feet, Thorion focused his will to one brilliant point. Standing tall, eyes closed, he gathered within himself the names of those he wished to consult. Then, using the energy that surged through him, he sent the summons, breaking contact once the process was complete.
***
Caleb and Alma stood together in the foyer, trying to act casual, the expressions of the guards around them giving nothing away. Finally Alma, unable to bear the tension any longer, nudged Caleb.
‘What’s the Crystal Chamber?’ she whispered.
‘It’s the Inner Sanctum of the Light,’ Caleb whispered back, eyes wide. ‘I’ve never been in there. I’m not even sure where it is, just that it’s somewhere in this building. I can’t believe we’re going in there.’
He was overheard by Thorion as the King came back into the Foyer. ‘Believe it, Master Caleb,’ he said, looking kindly on him. ‘I have summoned the others so let us go. Follow me if you please.’
With a gesture, Thorion sent the guards back to their posts at the door with instructions to admit only those he had summoned. After satisfying himself once more that the three of them were alone, Thorion passed between two of the pillars lining the Foyer, beckoning Alma and Caleb to follow. He stood in front of the solid stone wall, blank save for a small carving of a five-pointed star, and moved his hands in a complex twisting pattern, murmuring words as he did so. Alma and Caleb gasped as the stones melted away, dissolving like mist to reveal a stone stair going up through the centre of the wall. Light shone down, radiant and golden like afternoon sun. Thorion turned, beckoning to them both.
‘Come,’ he said. ‘Be not alarmed. The others will be along soon.’
Alma and Caleb followed Thorion to the magical stair, exchanging looks of wonder as they started to climb. The stone ceiling arching above them was etched with many small stars, each one picked out in gold. Balustrades carved as twisting vines were set into each side of the wall, so real to look at they almost seemed to tremble. Underfoot the stairs were covered in ancient patterned tiles, worn smooth in the centre by the passage of feet over the centuries. Alma ran a finger over the delicate carvings, marvelling at the craftsmanship as they climbed, while behind her Caleb was unusually silent. After a short ascent they emerged to find themselves standing on the flat top of one of the towers.
‘Wow!’ breathed Alma, grabbing onto Caleb’s arm for support as they both looked around in wonder. A circular table surrounded by upholstered wooden chairs sat at the centre of the tiled floor, but other than that there was nothing to obscure the view of the gardens stretching to the woods and distant rolling hills leading to higher mountains. The sea shone blue below, dotted with tiny whitecaps and, far out near the horizon, Alma could see what looked like a little boat. It was simply magnificent and completely unsettling. Yet, though the trees outside moved in the breeze, no wind blew through to trouble them and Caleb, when he tentatively tried to put his hand through to the outside, encountered what felt like solid stone under his hand, though the view was as clear as ever.
Thorion laughed, answering Alma’s unspoken question with a smile. ‘From here, we can see all, yet none can see us. From the outside this is just another tower, so do not fear, you are perfectly safe. Please, take a seat.’ Alma and Caleb each took a chair at the table, looking wide-eyed at each other, each glad of the other’s presence in the strange room. Caleb ran his hand over the richly inlaid table, which had a small five-pointed star at its centre just like the one on the wall below. Alma was particularly taken with her chair, upholstered in deep purple velvet on which golden lilies bloomed and white doves flew. She gently touched the soft fabric, enjoying the workmanship, until her attention was diverted by the arrival of the first of Thorion’s advisors. It was Meredan, magnificent in crimson armour, the golden light shining on his shaven head and muscular bare arms as he entered the chamber. He nodded to Caleb and Alma and went over to greet Thorion.
‘What is this, my Lord? Why have we been summoned?’ His ric
h deep voice boomed around the chamber but, before Thorion could answer, a light laughing voice did so for him.
‘Patience, my Lord Meredan. No doubt Thorion has his reasons and they will be revealed in due course.’
This was Adara, her perfect face smiling, her supple figure clothed in robes of olive green that brought out the rich colour of her eyes. She winked at Alma and Caleb before taking a seat at the table opposite them both and they smiled back nervously. Meredan also took a seat, his hands tapping on the table’s polished surface as he cast an inquiring glance at Thorion.
‘There is one more to arrive,’ said the High King, his voice amused as he looked at his friend.
‘And here I am,’ said a last voice, belonging to Lord Artos. Clad in ivory and brown, he smiled at Caleb and Alma as he pulled up a chair to sit at the table. All eyes then turned expectantly to Thorion who took the tallest chair of all. A carving of a crown over a tree touched with fine gilding marked it as the chair of the High King. Clasping his hands loosely on the table in front of him, Thorion fixed each of them in turn with his blue gaze, as though assessing them all, before he spoke.
‘Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I bring you here on a matter of the utmost urgency and importance.’ Raising one hand, he forestalled Lord Meredan, who had opened his mouth to speak in impatience. Adara placed her hand lightly on the Elder’s muscled forearm, gesturing him to wait, to be patient. The King’s face became grave.
‘You will all remember the sad fate of Lord Gwion and the loss of the Sword. A dark day it was, for those of the Light.’
‘And for those who loved him,’ said Adara softly, her lovely face becoming wary. Beside her, Lord Artos placed a gentle hand on hers as it lay on the table, his own expression guarded. Alma glanced their way, interested, as Thorion continued.
‘My friends, it seems that Alma may have been witness to the last moments of Lord Gwion as he crossed over to her world. You will all know what this means, and why, therefore, it is so important that we gather here today.’
Thorion leaned back in his chair as the reactions to his statement swirled around the small table, his eyes storm grey. Meredan’s face lit up with excitement and a burning desire to know more. Adara half rose from her seat, hand to mouth, unshed tears gleaming in her eyes. And Lord Artos, he of the sea-blue eyes, simply looked at Thorion, sorrow on his noble features. Under the table, Caleb took Alma’s hand and gently squeezed it. She looked at him, surprised at the contact but grateful for it. She felt quite out of her depth and the reassuring presence of Caleb at her side was the only thing keeping her from running out of the peculiar room and back to the Gate as quickly as she could.
‘Then the prophecy spoke true!’ exclaimed Meredan, looking excitedly at Alma. ‘You will find the Sword for us, and help us to restore the Regalia!’ He sounded so like Caleb that Alma, overwrought with emotion, almost giggled. Catching Caleb’s eye, she realised that would be completely inappropriate and folded her lips tight.
‘Then it is true, Thorion – he is dead?’ This was Adara, the grief in her eyes hinting at another story, another angle to this game of swords and prophecy.
‘Yes, I am afraid it looks that way. I am truly sorry, dear heart,’ said Thorion, and all at once the desire to laugh was gone from Alma, lost in the face of Adara’s obvious sorrow.
‘So we have lost both of them, Galen and Gwion, to the land beyond the Gates!’ Lord Artos, white with anger, looked at Alma with a strange expression on his face, as though he were assessing her but at the same time was worried for her. Alma met his gaze for a moment before looking down, unable to bear the real pain in his eyes. ‘This is why the Gates should be closed, Thorion. I have said this before!’
‘Had I closed the Gates when you pressed me to do so, Lord Artos, then Alma would not be here and we would never have learned of Gwion’s fate,’ returned Thorion, a thread of command in his voice that subdued the older man. Artos leaned back in his chair, his eyes distant as they looked to a tragic past.
Steepling his hands in front of him as he leaned on the table, the High King addressed Alma, his eyes back to gleaming blue. ‘Alma, will you be so kind as to tell us your story, just as you did to me earlier.’
So Alma, her voice soft in the golden chamber, told her tale once more, careful not to leave out any detail. When she spoke of the scream cutting through the still autumn air, Adara made a sound of distress, while Artos simply closed his eyes, grimacing for a moment as though in pain. As Alma finished her story, speaking of the strange silver light she had glimpsed beneath the massed pines, a single tear fell onto Adara’s perfect cheek. She slumped back in her chair, bowed as though some great hope had gone from her world.
By contrast, Meredan’s interest and excitement had increased as the story unfolded. As soon as she finished, he jumped to his feet, slamming one hand onto the table with such force that the whole thing shook. Alma jumped. ‘We must go!’ he almost shouted. ‘Let us retrieve the Sword before it is too late – we cannot tarry! If the Dark gets even a hint of this, the game is over before it has begun.’
‘I agree, my excitable friend,’ smiled Thorion. ‘Speed is of the essence, but so is Alma’s safety.’
All heads turned to look at Alma. She stared back, trying to hide how frightened she was. Caleb gave her hand another reassuring squeeze.
‘We will protect you, Alma,’ said Meredan, his face eager. ‘Trust us to do so. But the sooner we act the better.’
‘Then let us go now, just the six of us,’ said Lord Artos, sounding resigned. ‘It is the Pine Gate, is it not? The Closed Gate of Penwyth Gawr.’
‘We must be discreet,’ said Adara, her voice shaking slightly. She fought to gather herself, obviously still recovering from the impact of Thorion’s news. ‘No doubt there will be those who are watching us.’
At this Thorion nodded, while Artos looked across at Alma. ‘Fear not, my child. No harm will come to you, I promise.’ Alma smiled faintly at him, not wanting to offend the Elder lord, though her heart was pounding. From fear or excitement, she wasn’t really sure.
Thorion stood, taking a deep breath. ‘So are we agreed?’ he said, looking around the table at the assembled company. ‘Is this the best course of action?’ Alma could feel Caleb trembling beside her and, as she turned to catch his eye he smiled at her so warmly she couldn’t help but return it, while under the table he squeezed her hand so hard she nearly yelped out loud.
But it was Adara who had the final word, her voice low and sorrowful. ‘Yes, let us go now,’ she said. ‘Let us see if we can find the Sword, that his death not be in vain.’
Thorion looked at her, sorrow and pity mingled in his gaze. His voice was gentle as he spoke. ‘Then it is decided. May the blessing of Light be upon us all.’
With those words, as though it was a signal, the Elders at the table stood and bowed their heads. Caleb and Alma hastily joined them, still holding hands, bewildered by how quickly the day had changed. After a moment Thorion pushed his chair back to step away from the table, beckoning Alma and Caleb to follow. ‘Stay close, if you please.’
The other Elders moved aside and Alma let go of Caleb’s hand, casting one last glance around the strange chamber before stepping onto the narrow stair and following Thorion’s broad straight back as he descended to the foyer below. Standing with Caleb, Alma saw Meredan, the last in their group, come through the opening in the wall. As soon as he had done so the stones were back in place, looking as though they had always been there. Her eyes widened and Meredan gave her a wink, moving on past her to join the group.
‘Did you see that?’ she whispered to Caleb, who nodded.
‘I know,’ he whispered back, linking his arm in hers once more. Alma hung onto him as they made their way through the Foyer, grateful he was there with her. She wasn’t sure she could do this by herself. The group came out through the double doors, the guards saluting them smartly, and took a sharp left to double back along the side of the Great Ha
ll, towards where the mingled smells of horse and leather indicated the presence of stables. When Alma realised where they were going, she panicked.
‘I can’t ride a horse!’ she whispered to Caleb, her eyes wide.
‘Don’t worry.’ He grinned at her. ‘You can ride with me.’
True to his word, when the horses were led out, their hooves clattering in the stone yard, Caleb mounted first before offering a strong arm to Alma who, with a helpful boost from Lord Meredan, managed to get herself seated behind him. Their horse, a gentle grey mare, seemed huge to Alma and she wrapped her arms tightly around Caleb. She had only ridden a horse once before, pony trekking in Wales when she was younger, so was very happy to let Caleb have control in this instance. Thorion, buckling on his sword, smiled at them both as he saw their arrangement, his grim expression softening.
Keep her safe,’ he said, nodding at Caleb.
‘I will, my Lord,’ he replied, a note of pride in his voice at the responsibility.
Then Thorion mounted his silver grey mare, walking her over to where Meredan sat waiting astride his magnificent chestnut horse. ‘You know where we are going?’
‘I do, Thorion,’ replied the Elder, his handsome face stern.
‘Then will you lead us to the woods, my friend?’ said the King.
‘I will.’ Meredan’s eyes met Thorion’s gaze for a moment. Then, wheeling his horse around, Meredan started from the yard with Thorion close behind. The others followed him.
‘Keep close,’ the King said as they left the yard, ‘and do not be distracted. We must do this as quickly and quietly as possible.’ Caleb turned his head to look at Alma with raised eyebrows, but said nothing. She gave him a weak smile, barely managing not to squeal as he spurred his horse on after Thorion.
