Oak And Mist (The Ambeth Chronicles Book 1)

by Helen Jones

  They were soon on the Long Walk, picking up speed as they reached the edge of the gardens, their horses’ hooves thundering on the grassy meadow. Alma clung to Caleb, her hair blowing back from her face. They neared the dark green wall of the looming forest and she ducked her head as they entered the trees. Once in the woods Thorion moved to the front of the pack, turning to ascertain everyone was still there. They lessened their pace slightly and the group began to relax. All except for Alma. She still held tight to Caleb, her eyes closed as they rode between the trees. Noticing this, he laughed out loud.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked, most unhelpfully, Alma thought, as it was fairly obvious she was trying to avoid being scraped off against the nearest tree.

  ‘Just trying to stay on,’ she managed, through gritted teeth.

  ‘But we’re not even going that fast!’ cried Caleb, laughter in his voice. ‘We can’t – not in the woods. It would be too dangerous. Come on, open your eyes, you’re fine.’

  Grimacing, Alma opened her eyes to find she and Caleb were third in the line of riders, Thorion and Meredan in front of them, Adara and Artos bringing up the rear. They were moving quickly, as far as she was concerned, but at a pace she thought she could handle, at least with Caleb. Still, she kept her arms around his waist, just to be sure, the green and fragrant trees flashing past as they rode.

  ‘See, it’s not so bad, is it?’ said Caleb, as she relaxed her grip slightly. ‘A ride through the woods is a nice way to spend the day,’ he continued. ‘Perhaps we can do it again, some other time when things aren’t so…’ But he was interrupted by Thorion, who had called the riders to a halt.

  ‘Here,’ the High King said tersely, indicating a tangled path to the left of the group. Dark and narrow, it twisted off into the undergrowth. Its entrance was like an open mouth, waiting for them to enter. Alma swallowed. Thorion, his dark hair blowing back from his stern face and looking every inch a king from legend, drew his sword and turned his horse towards the path.

  ‘Follow me,’ he called over his shoulder, his deep voice ringing with command. He used his sword to cut through the undergrowth as best he could, framing a path for them all to take, his bright presence the only comfort in the gloom growing steadily around them. In single file they followed the High King, their pace reduced to a slow walk. The mulch underfoot muffled the horses’ hooves and the crack and slash of Thorion’s blade was the only sound. Clinging to Caleb more for comfort now than anything else, Alma became increasingly nervous as they neared the closed Gate.

  ‘Are you all right, Alma?’ said Caleb, his voice quiet, shifting slightly against her arms.

  ‘No,’ she said, not wanting to let go of him. Caleb laughed again, but this time he sounded nervous rather than amused.

  ‘Neither am I,’ he whispered. ‘This was not how I thought we’d be spending the day. Still-’ he shifted again, half turning to look at her ‘-it beats hanging around the library, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I guess,’ said Alma, sounding unconvinced. At that moment she would have been much happier sitting in that comfortable room, perhaps with a cool drink, searching the ancient volumes for clues. ‘I mean, I still can’t quite believe all this,’ she went on, her voice a murmur in the gloom as they slowly rode along. ‘It all just seems like too much of a coincidence, the fact that I knew about this place.’

  ‘Well, I believe it,’ replied Caleb, in a whisper, ‘and the fact that you knew where the Sword was lost just proves it, as far as I’m concerned.’. But Alma could not agree with him, though she leaned her head on his warm back for a moment, taking comfort in his solid presence. Feeling downcast, she considered that perhaps she was just not ready to believe.

  Her glum mood turned to one of abject fear when they came out of the tunnel into a clearing. Green and peaceful, it seemed like any other part of the woods, except for the two tall pine trees that seemed to loom and curve over the company. They had reached the Gate.

  Reining in their mounts, they dismounted one by one, Caleb helping Alma who by now was starting to shake. Looking at her with concern, Caleb put both hands on her arms and forced her to meet his gaze, his blue eyes earnest. ‘Hey,’ he said quietly. ‘Nothing’s happened yet. And we’ll all look after you.’

  Alma took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, staying close to Caleb as they neared the trees. Their trunks were carved with the usual symbols of Light and Dark but neither glowed with their own light. They were just shapes carved into the wood, with no power attached to them. Nonetheless, Alma was reminded uncomfortably of the strange valley and realised that in a moment, if things went as planned, she would actually be there again. She felt sick at the thought of it.

  ‘Lord Meredan, if you please,’ said Thorion. The armour-clad Elder inclined his head to the High King and stepped forward, dry pine needles crunching underfoot. He stood in front of the Gate with his eyes closed, arms straight and held at an angle in front of him as though feeling for something that couldn’t be seen.

  ‘Lord Meredan is a Tracker,’ whispered Caleb to Alma, as they stood in the shadow of a nearby tree. ‘He is checking the Gate for any traps left by the Dark.’

  Alma looked at him in alarm, liking the idea of going back to the strange valley less and less every minute. ‘What happens if he finds one?’ she whispered back, her face paler than usual.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry – Thorion will disarm it. Nothing can touch him – that is part of his power as High King.’

  Caleb was watching the proceedings with increasing interest. He couldn’t believe his luck. First a visit to the Crystal Chamber, now a secret trip to the Other World. And Alma. She had ridden with him, holding him close. For that he would face a thousand traps from the Dark.

  Lord Meredan had finished his check of the Gate. ‘It is safe, my Lord,’ he told Thorion. ‘I have checked it and there is nothing here now.’

  ‘Nothing here now?’ said Lord Artos. He had picked up on the subtle wording used by Meredan, as had Thorion, Caleb could see. It was also clear that Meredan was angry – his jaw tight as he faced them all, burdened with news he did not want to tell.

  ‘Ah… no, my Lord,’ he said, his usually strong voice sounding darker, almost pained.

  ‘But there was something?’ said Thorion.

  Meredan looked away for a moment, obviously trying to control his anger before speaking, his expression fierce. ‘A Galardin passed through here. At least one.’

  The effect of this announcement was immediate. Adara cried out ‘No!’ a hand to her mouth, while Lord Artos turned away, his shoulders bowed under some heavy weight of pain. Thorion closed his eyes for a moment, sorrow and anger crossing his handsome face and Meredan became anguished, regret writ large upon his expressive features.

  Opening his eyes, Thorion reached out to lay a hand on Meredan’s shoulder. ‘Do not distress yourself, my friend. This was not of your doing. It is right, though, that we should know of this.’

  ‘No, it was not your doing – but it was that of the Dark!’ spat Lord Artos, furious. ‘Foul creatures of their creation – they have been banned these many long years and still they make them! Thorion, you must act on this,’ he challenged the High King.

  Thorion’s eyes flashed blue for a moment but he just shook his head, regretful. ‘The Dark, it seems, ignore my pronouncements on such matters. There is not much more I can do, for we do not know whose creature these were – what is important is that it is no longer here.’

  ‘I have a fairly good idea whose they were,’ muttered Lord Artos, but Thorion shut him down with a sharp glance.

  ‘As do we all, friend,’ he said. ‘But we cannot waste time on idle speculation without proof. The most important thing now is to retrieve the Sword.’

  ‘And Gwion,’ said Adara softly, ‘if he still remains.’

  While this conversation was happening, Alma and Caleb waited under the trees. Alma had no idea what a Galardin was but was sure she didn’t like the sound of it.

&nbs
p; ‘They are servants of the Dark,’ said Caleb, keeping his voice low. ‘This Gate was closed years ago because it leads to a part of the in-between, a piece of the Old World that has become separate from both realms, a drifting space of mists where humans and Elders alike can become trapped. Only those of the highest levels, such as Lord Gwion, can travel through safely.’

  ‘Well, that explains why I’d never seen the place before,’ Alma whispered back, half distracted by the discussion taking place before them.

  ‘Yes,’ said Caleb, his face solemn as he watched Thorion and Artos. ‘You were lucky you didn’t enter the valley, that the scream stopped you. You might have been trapped there, perhaps even been taken to be made into a Galardin.’

  Alma looked at him aghast, her mouth open. ‘You mean the Dark…’

  ‘Yes,’ said Caleb, giving her an I-told-you-so look. ‘The Dark take humans who have become lost in the mists, luring them with offers of help then keeping them to turn into their servants, mutations with one purpose only: to kill all those of the Light. And the worst part? You know what’s happening to you, the whole time, but you can’t do anything about it once you’re… changed.’

  ‘Stop.’ Alma put her hands over her ears, closing her eyes and shuddering. It was too horrible to think about.

  ‘That is why Thorion closed this Gate,’ continued Caleb, ‘so that no one else could be lost here and transformed in such a way.’

  ‘So who do they think…?’ asked Alma, wrapping her arms around herself. She felt sick to her stomach.

  ‘Who made the creature? Why Lord Denoris, of course.’

  Open mouthed, Alma could only stare at Caleb. Deryck’s father. Why did all paths she took seem to lead back to him, to the constant reminder of what he was. It was too unfair. She went to speak but was hushed by Caleb, who gestured towards Thorion. He was opening the Gate.

  Dark Valley

  Thorion stood before the Gate with his eyes closed, feet slightly apart. His breath was deep and strong, his focus absolute as he tapped into the power of the land. Alma and Caleb watched in awe as the air around him started to shimmer, pulsing like a heartbeat. Slowly the symbols graven on the tree trunks began to glow, pearl and grey against the knotty bark, pulsing with their own light in time with the glow surrounding the King. As the intensity increased Alma found she was holding her breath, transfixed by the display of power. The pulsing reached a crescendo and Thorion slowly lifted his arms and spoke a single word; to Alma it seemed as though he said ‘Agorendith’, though she was never sure when she thought about it afterwards. The signs glowed hot with a sudden burst of brilliant light, then gradually dimmed until they resembled the ones on the Oak Gate, gleaming softly. Thorion lowered his arms. He was breathing hard and beads of sweat gleamed on his brow. But he had done it. The Gate was open.

  Wiping his brow with one hand, Thorion beckoned to Meredan.

  ‘Will you go through first?’ he asked and Meredan nodded. ‘But be wary. The woods run deep on the other side.’

  The brave Lord, saying nothing further, drew his sword and passed through the Gate. Adara came up to Alma and took her hand. Alma looked at her as though just waking up and Adara gave her a gentle smile.

  ‘We shall cross together, Alma, for we do not wish to lose you, and I’m afraid your bracelet will not help you here.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Alma, then swallowed hard. ‘OK, let’s do this.’

  ‘You are ready?’ said Adara. Alma nodded, and together they walked through the Gate. Air and light twisted around them as they emerged on the other side. Alma was dizzy and stumbling as usual, while Adara remained unruffled, holding onto Alma until she regained her balance. They were in a place of mists, white tendrils swirling through the trees that surrounded them, silent and dark. Artos was next through the Gate, the flash of light that heralded his arrival brighter than usual in the shifting gloom. Thorion followed with a stumbling Caleb, held up only by the High King’s strong arm. Relieved to see him, Alma stepped forward only to grab hold of Adara again. Her head was still spinning. The Elder looked at her compassionately, her golden eyes soft.

  ‘Just wait, Alma,’ she said, her voice slightly muffled by the fog. ‘Thorion has him – he will be fine.’ Caleb was bent over. Thorion’s hand rested on his back as he comforted the boy, who was coughing and shaking his head. Adara smiled gently to see Alma’s concern. ‘He is not used to it as you are, and this crossing was more difficult than most. It will be easier, I hope, on the way back.’

  Alma nodded in agreement. Breathing deeply, she looked into the swirling mist and saw a crimson-clad figure, his sword raised as he moved through the shadows. She tensed in fear before she realised it was Meredan patrolling the small clearing. He looked worried, beckoning for Thorion to join him. Taking another deep breath, Alma caught the scent of pines. The feel of the cool air took her back to the last time she was in the valley. Letting go of Adara, she made her way gingerly towards Caleb, who had managed to straighten up but still looked green.

  ‘Oh Caleb,’ she said, laying a sympathetic hand on his arm, ‘are you all right?’

  ‘Uh, getting there,’ he managed to say. ‘Is it… always like this?’

  Alma shook her head and Caleb let out a relieved sigh. ‘Well, here we are then,’ he said, his voice sounding stronger. Then he looked around. ‘But, where are we, exactly?’

  Alma looked around as well, trying to get a sense of their surroundings. She opened her mouth to answer Caleb but as she did so his face changed and he shoved her, hard enough to send her sprawling onto the pine needles, spiky beneath the palms of her hands. Scrabbling to get her footing she heard a grunting hiss of breath and smelt a sharp musky scent. She looked up in horror to see a dark shape towering over Caleb, furred and scaled, black and metal. Then everything happened very quickly.

  Caleb ducked as a taloned arm swept the air where his head had been a moment before. He bent back to avoid another swinging strike, twisting his body, but the metal tipped claws caught him on the shoulder with enough force to knock him down. Alma screamed his name, watching as he rolled to the side, barely evading another blow, his arms shielding his head. Adara ran to Alma, helping her to her feet and pulling her away, a knife unsheathed in her delicate hand.

  Artos, his sword drawn, advanced on the Galardin. But then another sword, glittering as it whirled through the air, sliced through the creature’s arm before it could strike at Caleb again. The monster threw its head back and shrieked, a broken sound full of pain. As it turned, Alma saw the creature’s sorrowful dark eyes and she held its gaze for a moment, transfixed. It was as though she could feel its agony, deeper than a wound. There was a buzzing in her feet, then a pulse, as though energy was coming through the ground to her. Time seemed to slow and she watched as Thorion drew his arm back, the motion crystal clear, saw as Artos half turned to her, his face incredulous. Then Thorion slashed at the creature again, drawing it away from Caleb and the strange moment passed.

  Artos darted in and grabbed Caleb, pulling the boy to his feet and away from the fight. Caleb was holding his shoulder. Alma could see his tunic was torn, bruises visibly darkening on his skin and felt sick at how close he’d come to being killed. She was gasping out sobs, clinging to Adara as Meredan moved to join in the fray, supporting his King. Not that Thorion needed him. His sword flashed, dark hair flying as he wove a deadly dance around the creature, striking at it, his face contorted with what looked like pure fury. Another arm was sliced away and the creature fell to its knees. Alma retched as she saw the dark blood splash on the ground, turning away with her hand to her mouth. The creature screamed again. Then she heard a thud and a guttural groan followed by silence, final.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Caleb. He was pale, his cheek smudged with dirt and she’d never been so happy to see him in her life. Without thinking she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder, so glad that he was all right.

  ‘Are you OK?’

&n
bsp; He hugged her back, but only with one arm, his body tense against hers. She drew back, not wanting to hurt him any further. His tunic was ripped down one arm, his shoulder scored with reddish purple lines turning to black, as though the skin had been burnt. Feeling sick at the sight of it, she reached out gentle fingers to touch the wound. He winced and she pulled her hand back. ‘You’re hurt…oh, Caleb.’

  ‘It’s nothing, I’m OK,’ he said. ‘See?’ He flexed his fingers and moved his shoulder but she could see how it hurt him, her hands fluttering around him as she tried to help. If she looked at his arm she didn’t have to look at the creature lying humped in the clearing and see the fur and scales, the pooling blood.

  ‘Oh, Caleb, don’t,’ she said, her voice catching. But he just shook his head and smiled at her, his eyes blue-grey.

  ‘I’m fine. As long as you are,’ he said, his voice low as he leaned in close to her. She wiped her face with her hands, vaguely aware of Thorion and Meredan both cleaning their swords on the creature’s fur before sheathing them. Meredan knelt down next to it, pushing the huge shoulder so that it rolled onto its back. She glanced over then wished she hadn’t. She could smell death, hot metal blood and musky fear. It made her gulp again.

  Then Thorion was there, his handsome face spattered with dark blood, his eyes so grey they were nearly black. He pulled Caleb into a strong hug, his eyes closing. Strong emotions played out on his face as he briefly touched the boy’s blonde hair with one hand, holding him close. Then he released him and began examining his injured arm.

  ‘Are you all right?’ He sounded so worried, unlike his usual calm self, his hands gentle on Caleb as he probed the injured shoulder. Caleb looked stunned, though he managed to respond.

  ‘I am fine, my Lord.’ But he flinched as the King touched him and Alma saw him grit his teeth, trying to hold it in. Thorion saw it too, his hands pausing in their investigation.

  ‘There is damage here,’ he said, his hands hovering over Caleb’s arm. His face was raw with pain, as though he felt the boy’s wound as his own. ‘I am so sorry I didn’t see the creature coming, didn’t get to you in time.’ Alma saw a glance pass between Adara and Artos and the Elder Lord went over to them.