by C. J. Busby
Simon shivered, and looked at Cat. She tried to smile, but her eyes were anxious.
Caractacus harrumphed. “Well, yes, that’s as maybe, but there’s no need to frighten the poor children half to death. Prophecies are all very well but preparation is better, I’ve always found. Now – the sword. Perhaps you could have a look?”
Rowan turned his brown eyes on Caractacus and rustled gently, as if he were laughing.
“The forest’s most trusty agent,” he said. “What would we do without you, Caractacus?”
“Find some other poor benighted magic-user to traipse round half the worlds on your errands, I expect,” said Caractacus, with a snort. He turned to Cat and Simon. “The guardians are bound to the forest and the Tree. They can feel what the Tree feels – when there are tears or rents in the boundaries of the worlds, when they are disturbed by the forces of the dark. But they can’t leave the forest. So looking after the boundaries and the balance of the worlds is the business of the forest agents, who can travel between them.” He turned back to Rowan. “The sword?” he reminded him.
“Ah, yes – indeed.” Rowan held out a brown hand, and Simon, slightly reluctantly, pulled the sword out from where it was tucked into his belt and passed it over.
“It was my dad’s,” he said. “We used it to try to get to the kingdom – but it kept opening portals to other worlds.”
“Indeed?” said Rowan, surprised. “Other worlds?” He exchanged a look with Caractacus, and then felt the sword carefully. He nodded, and then passed it back to the surrounding guardians. As they examined it, Simon thought, they seemed again to be more like people than trees, leaning in and whispering amongst themselves. When Rowan passed it back, the sword was gleaming slightly, as if it had absorbed some of the light of the Great Tree.
“It is a mighty sword,” said Rowan solemnly. “We knew already that your father was a descendant of the great king, Bruni. But it seems he was an heir from the line of his youngest son, the one who stayed to fight the forces of the dark in the north. It was Bruni who originally forged this sword.”
“This is Bruni’s sword?” said Simon, startled. “The actual same one? The one he cut the tree with to make the amber?”
Rowan nodded.
“I thought as much,” said Caractacus, with satisfaction. “Bruni’s sword was made from metal taken from every world – part of every world was forged into its being. That’s why it can open a portal to anywhere!”
“It is indeed forged from a part of all worlds,” said Rowan. “And it has been lost for a long time. To find it again, now – that is a stroke of good fortune indeed.”
“Why?” said Cat.
“Because if Lord Ravenglass succeeds in remaking the Crown,” said Rowan gently, “the only way to destroy it will be with this sword.”
Chapter Eleven
The light in the forest was starting to turn a deeper golden colour as the afternoon wore on. The guardians had retreated, to confer over what plans needed to be made, and Caractacus had taken Simon and Cat to a small clearing nearby. At one end there was a shelter made of branches all bent over and twined together, interwoven with ivy and honeysuckle. Cat thought it was beautiful. Inside, the mossy floor was soft, and in front, where the shelter was open to the clearing, there was a crackling fire.
“You can sleep here,” said Caractacus. “It’s close to the Tree – probably the safest place in all the worlds right now. And just at the moment, yours is the only bit of deep amber we’re sure of – we don’t want to risk losing it to Ravenglass.”
Cat put her hand up and fingered the jewel around her neck.
“Could he take it from me?” she said, curious. “When he tried, last time …” She remembered the fight, at Sunset Court, and the way she had held the amber and just told Lord Ravenglass and his henchmen to go back to where they came from. The power of the stone had pulled them instantly into a swirling white mist, all of them quite helpless to resist.
Caractacus shrugged.
“It’s true,” he said. “You could defend yourself with the amber if any one tried to take it directly from you. But you have to sleep, after all. You may be careless. You could be tricked.”
Simon frowned. “But the amber’s Cat’s now,” he objected. “She picked it up. Doesn’t that make her the proper heir, or something?”
Caractacus waggled his tentacles at him. “Yes and no,” he said. “Actually, any heir to the kingdom can take control of a piece of amber. But of course the one who is the current wielder is usually deemed to have the right to it. They can pass it on to whom they choose. In your case, your great-aunt wasn’t able to pass the earth amber on, so it went to the first heir to take it. And that was Cat.”
He seemed lost in thought for a moment, and then he shook himself. “We need to find the other bits of amber. Then maybe we can put an end to whatever foolishness Ravenglass has in his head, before he does more damage.”
Simon mooched around the clearing, kicking the odd pile of leaves, feeling completely disgruntled. Here he was in a magic other world, and he may as well have been in the Forest of Dean on a camping holiday. Cat was deep in conversation with Caractacus about the Akkadian Empire and how it differed from the one on Earth all those years ago. She seemed quite happy to accept that they would be staying here, in the forest, till the last two pieces of amber had been found. But as far as Simon was concerned, that was no kind of adventure at all. How would he ever find out anything about Dad, or the place where he’d grown up, stuck here in the middle of the Great Forest? He wanted to see the rest of the kingdom, do some exploring.
He glanced at the two of them, heads bent over a tiny glowing replica of a city Caractacus had conjured on the forest floor. Cat looked up and raised her eyebrows, and Simon jerked his thumb into the main part of the forest. “Going for a walk!” he mouthed. She looked a little hesitant, but then nodded and turned back to Caractacus, asking him another question about portals. Simon watched them for a moment, and then slipped quietly away.
The forest seemed calmer than it had when they’d arrived. There were no odd sounds or surprising glimpses of other worlds. Late afternoon sunshine filtered down through the trees, dappling the path with showers of gold that danced and twinkled as Simon passed. There was the trill and chatter of birds, and occasionally Simon saw one or two flitting between branches, but they were quite normal-looking – nothing multi-coloured or exotic. He pushed his hands into his trouser pockets crossly.
As he did so, his fingers brushed against the hilt of the sword attached to his belt. He pulled it out of the makeshift strap he’d secured it with and held it out in front of him. Sunlight gleamed along its length and picked out the faint engravings on the blade. Simon took hold of the hilt with two hands and swung the sword through the air, left and then right. It made a satisfying swishing sound and took the tips off a few plants as it passed across them. Simon continued down the path, randomly cutting the heads off weeds and trimming bits of straggly undergrowth as he went, imagining himself a giant, scything down puny enemies with every swish of his sword. Until he came to a small, narrow path that led off the main one, dark with brambles, twisting into the depths of the forest.
On a whim, Simon turned and started following the little narrow footpath, and then another that led off that, and another, cutting his way through increasingly dense creepers and brambles with the sword. The paths wound in between the trees, darting in strange directions and then doubling back on themselves.
It wasn’t long before he realised he was quite lost. The trees pressed around him, and the path he was following appeared to be getting ever narrower. But then he spotted a clearing, and a faint glimpse of something shining on the other side – a dim blueish-white gleam like the reflection of pale daylight on snow.
Simon approached the light, treading softly, the sword out in front of him. As he came closer, and the trees started to thin out, he saw that there was a rocky cliff rising ahead of him on the other side of the c
learing, and at the base of the cliff was the outline of a dark cave, surrounded by ice and snow. Simon halted at the edge of the trees, scanning the cliff for signs of life. The snow and ice clearly didn’t belong in the forest – it must be part of another world, one of those shifts that they had encountered on their way to the Great Tree. It would disappear in a moment.
But it didn’t.
As Simon stood there, watching, there was a movement in the cave, and then a figure emerged. Simon couldn’t see him clearly, but it was a man, he thought, tall and thin, dark-haired. The man stood for a while, in shadow, staring across the snow at the point where Simon was standing.
He can’t see me, thought Simon. He can’t see me. I’m in another world.
But the man stood quite still, gazing in Simon’s direction. And then he moved out of the shadow, and as he did so, Simon blinked. There was something odd about the way the man changed as he moved out of the cave – a trick of the light, or something. Now he was nearer, Simon could see he was gaunt, pale, dressed in rags, and his hair was blond. His blue eyes were fixed on Simon’s with an intent expression. And then they shifted to the sword at Simon’s side.
He looked back at Simon and his eyes seemed to burn in his pale face.
“You are carrying my sword,” he said.
His voice was rusty, as if he hadn’t spoken for years. Simon stared at his prominent cheekbones, his ragged clothes, his bare feet on the snow. It was impossible that he was not shivering, frozen – but there was a kind of energy about him that seemed to be keeping him warm. Despite his obvious thinness, he gave the impression of a powerful strength, just held in check.
“Your sword?’ said Simon. “But … I don’t understand. Are you … are you Bruni?”
The man moved closer, and as he did so there was a clinking sound. Simon could see silver chains stretched out behind him, and sores on his arms and legs where the manacles were attached.
He beckoned Simon to come forward. Hesitantly, Simon moved from the shelter of the trees, but when he reached the point where the snow started he came up against an invisible barrier, separating him from the other world. The man moved towards him and then stopped, a few steps from the barrier, his chains almost stretched out to their full length.
“No, not Bruni,” he said. “Bruni’s sword was passed down to me. I am his heir. But how can you possibly …?”
He looked as if he were trying to remember something. And then, reaching out his hand till it was almost touching the barrier, he said, wonderingly: “Simon?”
Simon took a step backward, startled. How could this man know his name? Why was he claiming the sword was his? What was going on?
“W-what? Who …?” he stuttered, but inside him a great whirlwind of emotions was spiralling round. There was something about the man’s eyes that deep blue colour, like Cat’s. It was bringing up memories Simon hadn’t even realised he had a voice, the touch of a hand on his shoulder, the feeling of being pulled close into a warm embrace.
“Dad?” he said. His voice was barely a whisper.
“Simon! It is you! I can’t believe it! How can you be here? How can you be so big?”
The man had tears running down his face, and Simon could feel that his own eyes were streaming – he could hardly see the cave, the snow, the hand held out in front of him.
He blinked, brushed the tears away, and tried to grin.
“Dad! I knew you were alive. I knew it! I knew we’d find you! Wait till I tell Cat!”
Cat was seriously worried about where Simon had got to. Caractacus had left a while ago, claiming he had “important forest business to attend to”, and she’d been waiting for Simon to return ever since. She kept wondering whether she should go and look for him – but he could have gone anywhere and more than likely they’d just end up following each other around in circles. So when he finally stumbled back into the clearing where they’d made camp, she wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or furious at him for leaving in the first place. The sight of his face, though, pushed all thought of scolding out of her head.
“Simon! You look awful! What happened?”
Simon grinned. His face was covered in streaks from where he’d wiped tears away with muddy hands, and scratches from fighting his way through a pile of brambles on his way back to the clearing. His discovery had also left him looking slightly wild-eyed, with a mixture of shock, excitement and joy.
“Cat! I’ve found him!” he said. “Dad! He’s alive! I told you!”
Cat stared at him in disbelief. “Simon! Are you insane? How? It can’t have been … You’ve made a mistake.”
“It’s true – it really is! He’s trapped in another world but … well, you know how weird the forest is, and then I think the sword must have had something to do with it, too – must have made the connection happen … It’s him. Really – it’s him!”
In his excitement he grabbed Cat by the shoulders and shook her, willing her to believe him. He could feel the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes again as he remembered seeing his dad, so pale and thin but so definitely alive.
“OK, OK, calm down,” said Cat, patting him on the shoulder. “Sit down and tell me everything – from the beginning.”
It didn’t take long. Simon’s words tumbled out of his mouth with barely a breath to stop the flow, describing the cave, the man, the way he had recognised the sword, the way Simon had recognised him. And then at the end, he grew slightly more sober, and paused.
“Cat – he told me how to rescue him,” he said. “We need the amber.”
Cat didn’t reply. She was still trying to get over the shock. Could it be true? Was Dad really alive – here, in the kingdom? Or had Simon got it wrong? He’d been very little when Dad died – how much did he really remember of him? She hugged her knees up towards her body, memories of her dad flooding into her mind – memories of strong arms and a deep voice, laughing blue eyes and the feeling of being lifted up and swung around. She suddenly found herself biting her thumb – something she hadn’t done for years.
“Cat,” said Simon again. “He told me something very important. We need to leave the forest. We can’t tell anyone else about him or where we’re going.”
Cat focused on him and frowned.
“Leave the forest?’ she said.
“Yes,” said Simon, lowering his voice. “He said we can get him out of where he’s trapped, but we need the amber and the sword. And we have to go to the palace to do it.”
“But we can’t! That’s where Lord Ravenglass is. He’ll catch us for sure – and then he’ll have the amber and the sword. It’s madness!”
“I know – but it has to be the palace. He said it’s the only place in this world where there’s a proper link to his prison.”
“But you saw him here, in the forest. Can’t we reach him from here?”
Simon shook his head impatiently. “No – we could see each other, and talk, but he said it’s not a real link – just something to do with the sword, and the magic of the forest. If we want to reach him – release him – we have to go to the palace. And there’s another thing.”
Simon looked round, to check no one was near, and then put his face very close to Cat’s. His voice was low, but determined.
“They’ll try to stop us – Caractacus and the forest people. That’s what he said. We’ve got to go, Cat – we’ve got to! He told me a secret way into the palace. He told me where to go. If we’re quick and careful, he said, we won’t get caught by Lord Ravenglass. But we mustn’t tell anyone. We can’t trust Caractacus!”
Cat looked at his eager face and hesitated. She felt utterly confused. Caractacus was odd, certainly, but she had warmed to the strange blue creature since he’d burst into Simon’s bedroom that morning. He had the same sort of reassuring presence as the previous forest agent they’d met – Albert Jemmet. But then she thought about the odd expression on her mum’s face when she’d first seen Caractacus – the hint of recognition, of fear. Was Simon rig
ht? Was Caractacus not to be trusted?
“Simon – I don’t know. But I don’t think we should leave the forest. It’s dangerous.”
Simon groaned in frustration. “But this is Dad we’re talking about,” he said, pleading with her. “I saw him, he knew who I was! And he’s so thin, and he’s got these chains keeping him trapped in the ice. We can rescue him, Cat. Don’t you think we have to try?”
Cat took a deep breath.
“I think, before we decide anything, you’d better take me to the place where you saw Dad. If it is Dad. I need to see him for myself. And then we’ll decide.”
Chapter Twelve
Simon managed to find the cave again, but it was almost dusk by the time they reached the clearing, and the place where Gwyn Arnold was trapped seemed to be only half there, as if it was fading away. Still, Cat could just see the man standing by the cliff face, silver chains stretching out from his arms and legs. She walked with hesitation towards the barrier, and saw him move across the ice and snow to meet her. There was a lump in her throat as she saw the sores on his skin.
“Dad?” she said.
“Catrin,” he replied. Tears were glistening on his cheeks but he was smiling, his hand reached out to touch the invisible barrier between them.
He looked older, his face gaunt, but it was definitely Dad. She wanted to cry, and hug him.
“The link is fading,” he said, as the ice around him started to shimmer. “You need to get to the palace. Please – Simon knows where to go. You can get me out of here, but you mustn’t tell anyone from the forest. They can’t know you’ve seen me.”
Cat nodded, dumbly, and held out her hand – but he’d already gone. Trees crowded in where the ice and snow had been. Cat was left stunned. Tears of joy that he was alive mingled with an awful feeling of loss as his image faded.
She and Simon hurried back to the shelter and gathered their bags. Quickly and quietly they slipped away through the trees into the gathering dusk.
