The Stones of Ravenglass

by Jenny Nimmo

  ‘Keep throwing!’ cried Timoken.

  Thorkil seized a helmet and, pushing it on his head, stood up and aimed his spear at the leading soldier. There was a gurgle of pain and the man dropped to the ground, the spear embedded in his neck.

  Encouraged by Thorkil’s success, the other boys began grabbing helmets and dropping them over their heads. Barely able to see beneath the oversized headgear, they bravely stood and hurled their spears.

  ‘We are about to lose our castle and our lives, Timoken.’ The wizard was sitting with his back to the wall, breathing heavily. ‘I hope you have a solution.’

  Timoken had already taken off his cloak. He climbed to the centre of the ruin where the red stones were piled highest. Standing tall, he swept the cloak through the air above his head and in the language of the secret kingdom he called to the sky. He begged the clouds to batter his enemy with hailstones the size of pebbles, with bolts of lightning, with a wind strong enough to steal their helmets, and thunder that roared like a monster from the underworld.

  ‘Go below!’ he shouted to the others. ‘Now!’

  They needed no second telling. The urgency in Timoken’s voice sent everyone clambering down to the room below.

  ‘The forest gods be with you, Timoken,’ said Eri as he followed the children.

  The first soldier’s head appeared above the wall just as the hailstones began to fall. Two pebble-sized blocks of ice landed on his helmet, and he disappeared without a sound. By the time the second soldier showed his face, the wind was so strong it tore him away and dropped him in the trees.

  The storm raged above Timoken but never touched him. He flew over the pile of stones chanting in his ancient language. And then his voice was drowned in thunder, and the sky became darker than a night without moon or stars.

  The soldiers were trying to remount when the lightning struck. Rods of blinding light crackled through the black clouds, striking helmets, spearheads and breastplates, turning them into white-hot metal. The men were screaming now; they tore off their burning armour and those that could still move lifted their wounded comrades on to the backs of their horses and galloped into the safety of the trees.

  Timoken put his cloak round his shoulders and watched the last soldier disappear into the forest. He decided to let the storm rage for the rest of the morning, forcing the Ravenglass soldiers to retreat until they were too far away to change their minds and return to the attack. There was no doubt in Timoken’s mind that they would return, for they had seen the great pile of Ravenglass stones, and their overlord would want to know how and why the stones had been taken to such a hidden and isolated place.

  Leaving the stormy roof, Timoken went down to join his friends. He found a scene of great distress and confusion. Eri was burning herbs in one of the cooking pots, and a strange pungent smell filled the room. Beside the wizard lay a boy with a face of ivory; Elfrieda knelt over him, pressing a cloth against his shoulder. The cloth was slowly turning blood red.

  ‘What . . . ?’ Timoken began.

  ‘Thorkil has been wounded,’ Elfrieda said accusingly.

  ‘How?’ Timoken sank to his knees at Thorkil’s feet.

  ‘An arrow pierced his chain mail,’ said Eri. ‘No one noticed because he pulled it out, but now he is bleeding very heavily.’

  ‘He is dying,’ sobbed Elfrieda.

  ‘Not if I can help it!’ Eri put another bunch of herbs into the cooking pot and fanned the smoke over Thorkil’s face. Timoken saw that the boy was breathing, but colour was still draining from his face, and although his eyelids fluttered, he seemed incapable of opening them.

  Swinging off his cape, Timoken threw it over Thorkil’s motionless body, pulling it up to cover his face.

  ‘What are you doing?’ cried Elfrieda. ‘He can’t breathe.’ She snatched a corner of the cloak, but Timoken put his hand firmly on her arm.

  ‘Leave it!’ Timoken commanded. ‘Your brother’s life is ebbing fast. If you want it to return, you must allow the cloak to bring it back, before it is too late.’

  Elfrieda frowned. She looked at Eri, who said, ‘Do as he says, Elfrieda. You can see that my remedy is of no use here.’ The wizard poked his scorched herbs with a stick, his face weary and troubled.

  Elfrieda sat back and allowed Timoken to adjust the cloak so that it covered every part of Thorkil, except his feet. The others crouched in corners, weak from the battle. Thunder rumbled overhead and the room was lit by constant flashes of lightning.

  The gloomy atmosphere was relieved by Enid, who dropped two fish into the opening. Karli scrambled up to fetch them. Eri cooked the fish over a low fire of straw and twigs. He glanced at Timoken as the flames began to scorch the ancient marble floor, but Timoken hardly noticed, he was too worried about Thorkil.

  After their meal, everyone slept, except for Elfrieda and Timoken.

  ‘Will this storm never end?’ Elfrieda moaned. ‘My head aches with the noise.’ She stared reproachfully at Timoken. ‘You brought the storm. Can’t you stop it?’

  Timoken’s thoughts had been with Thorkil. He had become used to the thunder growling away above them. He looked at the cloak but dared not remove it. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said.

  Climbing out into the storm, Timoken thought of the words he had so often used to bring thunder and lightning, rain and wind. He had always had the cloak with him when he called, and he had used it again to pacify a storm. Could he calm this turbulence without his cloak? He thought of arcs of colour filling the sky. He thought of ancient words from his secret kingdom, words that were used to describe a rainbow. He shouted them at the black clouds and closed his eyes.

  The hail that had been pounding the red stones turned to a gentle rain. The thunder faded and Timoken felt the sun on his face. When he opened his eyes, the black clouds had rolled away and a rainbow was growing through a vivid blue sky. When it had completed its arc, another appeared above it, and then another above that.

  ‘Come and see the rainbows!’ called Timoken. ‘Wake up, everyone. We have an omen to lift our spirits.’

  Sila was the first to appear. Still rubbing her eyes, she crawled on to the roof and looked into the sky. With wide, astonished eyes she gazed at the three rainbows, crying, ‘Three! I’ve never seen three rainbows.’

  The others crowded on to the roof behind her. They pranced over the stones, happy to see the blue sky again, amazed to find three rainbows. Elfrieda and the wizard stayed below.

  ‘It’s a sign, isn’t it?’ said Karli. ‘It means we’re going to be safe now, and perhaps Thorkil will get better.’

  Timoken wasn’t sure, but he felt that a few moments of hope couldn’t do any harm.

  ‘They’ll be back,’ muttered Eri, when Timoken returned. ‘The soldiers. Curiosity is a powerful force. Their overlord will want to know all about this place. He’ll send a message to the king, and there’ll be an army out here . . .’

  ‘But, Eri . . .’ Timoken began.

  ‘Hush!’ the wizard said irritably. ‘They won’t see anything, of course, because by then I will have finished the wall.’

  ‘We’ll help,’ said Timoken, noticing the wizard’s sagging shoulders.

  ‘Naturally.’ Eri looked at the motionless form beneath the red cloak. ‘He’s very still. I wish I could have done more.’

  ‘Your herbs stemmed the bleeding, and kept him alive,’ said Timoken.

  ‘For how long?’ Eri poked the ashes in the cooking pot.

  ‘We can’t tell yet. But have hope, Eri. There are three rainbows outside.’

  ‘Hmm. You did that, Timoken. Don’t tell me that you didn’t.’

  Timoken couldn’t deny it. He wished Elfrieda could have seen the rainbows, but she had fallen asleep beside her brother. ‘The forest is safe now,’ he said. ‘I’m going to gather food.’

  Eri nodded, but he didn’t move. ‘I’ll stay with these two,’ he said.

  The others were eager to explore and followed Timoken down the stony mound
and into the trees. They hadn’t gone far when Enid came flying after them. Landing beside Timoken, she squawked, ‘Your camel is cross. He turned his back on me.’

  Timoken felt a rush of guilt. He had almost forgotten Gabar. Leaving the others, he flew down the cliff face and over the river. Gabar was sulking. He turned away from Timoken and refused to be lifted up the cliff.

  ‘Please don’t be difficult,’ said Timoken. ‘I’ve been very busy this morning.’

  ‘Difficult?’ snorted the camel. ‘I have never been difficult. You have a large family now, and a camel counts for nothing.’

  ‘You and my sister have been my family for longer than any other beings on earth,’ Timoken said sternly. ‘Never forget it.’

  A low rumble came from the camel, and then he grunted, ‘I won’t forget it, Family.’

  ‘Then, shall we go?’

  ‘I hope you don’t have to bring on storms like that too often,’ said Gabar, and he allowed himself to be lifted over the river, up the cliff-face and into a sunlit glade in the trees. Enid came rushing to his side, and Timoken left them, smiling at each other.

  The rainbows faded but the sun remained. While the others ate outside in the warm air, Timoken took some food to Eri. Karli followed with a pot of water. Elfrieda was awake but Thorkil hadn’t stirred.

  ‘He’s breathing,’ said Eri, ‘but only just.’

  Elfrieda stared hard at Timoken. ‘We used to fight,’ she said. ‘But he’s my brother, and I can’t imagine life without him. Tell me he won’t die.’

  Timoken took a chance. ‘Thorkil won’t die,’ he said.

  Elfrieda’s smile told him that he’d better be right.

  Before the sun went down, everyone was inside the ruin. They fell asleep while the sky was still light.

  Timoken awoke to the sound of an owl. He remembered the night birds that used to sing in the secret kingdom. Before he knew it, he was chanting in his ancient language. The words and his gentle hum became a call to his ancestors. Beneath the sound of his voice, he heard a distant drumbeat. He stopped chanting and lay still. The sound of drumbeats intensified, but none of the others woke up.

  A moonbeam lit the ramp of tumbled stones that led out into the night. As Timoken stared at the moonbeam, a group of white-robed figures suddenly appeared in the opening. When they stepped down into the room, their golden bracelets glinted in the moonlight, but their sandalled feet made no sound on the red stones.

  Timoken held his breath as the spirit ancestors moved about the room. Silently they whirled their spears above their heads, and the coloured images that he remembered so well began to appear on the crumbling walls around him: birds and trees; pale, flat-roofed houses; monkeys and flowers; lions and fish and proud golden camels.

  The ancestors glided past Timoken and out into the night. He couldn’t stop his eyes from closing, but as he lay half awake and half dreaming, he felt the carpet and the marble floor move gently beneath him. He felt the room swinging, very slightly, and heard a muffled rumble just above him. The sound went on and on and on, a rumble that was almost musical, and he drifted into sleep.

  ‘Wake up, Timoken! Wake up! Wake up!’

  The voice was loud and insistent. Timoken didn’t want to wake up. He wanted to stay with his dreams; his mother’s face had been so clear, the palace in the secret kingdom so warm and splendid.

  ‘Look! Look!’ cried Sila.

  Timoken rubbed his eyes. Sunlight was streaming into the room. Everything was bright. The walls shone with colour. Was he still dreaming?

  ‘You have your castle, Timoken.’ Eri stood looking down at him. ‘Or should I say, your palace?’

  Timoken sat up. Thorkil was crouching beside him, drinking from a tankard. He grinned at Timoken and held out the red cloak. ‘This belongs to you,’ he said. He was still wearing his blood-stained tunic but he appeared to be completely recovered.

  Timoken got to his feet. He gazed round the room. At the far end, a row of pillars led into a sunlit courtyard. Long windows were set into the coloured walls on one side, and at the other end, opposite to the pillars, five passages could be seen beyond the five great archways. Each passage had a floor of bright mosaics.

  ‘Is it all . . . ?’ Timoken whirled round and stared at the ceiling.

  ‘Complete?’ said Eri. ‘Only you would know. This building seems more African than British.’

  ‘But we’ve explored,’ said Karli, his face pink with excitement, ‘and there are many rooms smaller than this, but with beds and tables and chairs and couches.’

  ‘And a grand entrance with doors as tall as five of us standing on each others’ heads,’ said Sila. ‘And the doors are all carved with pictures of birds and beasts and flowers and fish.’

  ‘And four towers,’ said Wyngate, ‘with pointed roofs.’

  ‘And no hole,’ added Esga, pointing to a corner where the tumble of stones had been replaced by a smooth, gold-patterned ceiling and, below it, another splendid couch, covered in cloth of gold.

  Timoken moved through the room in a daze. The palace was a replica of his home in the secret kingdom. He went out into the courtyard and climbed the steps to the roof. He stood on the very spot where he had seen his father ride out to his death, and where he had found that he could fly, on his last day in the secret kingdom. He ran down the steps and through the courtyard. He wandered down every passage and into every room, and then he went out through the splendid doors of the entrance, while Eri and the others followed at a discreet distance.

  ‘It is complete!’ said Timoken, staring up at the massive doors; the carved creatures were just as he remembered them.

  ‘Your palace, Timoken,’ said Sila.

  ‘Our palace,’ Timoken corrected her. ‘Our home.’

  They grinned at him and some repeated, ‘Our home.’

  ‘And now we’d better hide it,’ said Eri.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Vanishing

  Everyone followed Eri out into the forest. It wasn’t an easy task to find the flowers and herbs he wanted. The special plants were often hidden in brambles and thick undergrowth.

  Sila led Timoken to the end of the line where he laid his stalks of willow herb. The wall was only ankle deep, but he could already feel its potency; when he placed his feathery flowers on top of Sila’s rowanberries, a soft warmth brushed his fingertips and, for a fraction of a second, his fingers felt weightless, as though they were not attached to his hand at all.

  ‘You felt that, didn’t you?’ Sila beamed at him. ‘Imagine what it will be like when we’re inside our castle!’

  Timoken couldn’t imagine. ‘What happened when you were in the vanished shelter?’

  Sila wrinkled her brow. ‘It was like floating in a glass bubble.’

  Timoken looked back at the castle. How would it feel to stand in such a large vanished building, he wondered. He thought he could hear the distant crack of a falling tree, but dismissed it as one of the many sounds a forest makes.

  Esga and Ilga arrived with bundles of ivy and dried meadowsweet. The boundary of plants grew and grew. They had to go further and further into the forest to search for the plants that Eri demanded. Wyngate found another cliff face, where gorse clung to the rocks and flowering herbs grew in the fissures.

  The wall was almost finished when Enid came flying out of nowhere. ‘Men!’ she screeched. ‘Many. Horses. Many, many, many.’ Now the sound of falling trees made sense to Timoken. They were cutting a way through the forest big enough for an army.

  He had just carried an armful of herbs round to the edge of the cliff behind the castle. Even though a steep cliff and a river should have kept them safe, Eri wasn’t taking any chances.

  ‘Here! Drop it here, Timoken!’ The wizard pointed with his staff. A gap of only one stride was left to fill. Sila and Karli ran up with bunches of herbs. Thorkil arrived with a branch of rowan berries. The wall was complete.

  ‘Into the castle!’ barked Eri. ‘Now. At once. All of you.�
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  They did as he asked. It was extraordinary to walk through the grand entrance of their new home, rather than scramble up into the trees, or climb a mound of rubble. Timoken went to fetch Gabar.

  ‘I’m invited inside, am I?’ said Gabar.

  ‘Of course. It’s your home,’ Timoken told him.

  ‘Very nice,’ the camel remarked as he was led past the tall, carved doors, and he kept repeating this as he walked through the room of coloured walls, stopping briefly to give the golden camels a critical glance. ‘Very nice indeed,’ he said as strode into the sunlit courtyard.

  The wizard had not appeared and Timoken ran to see what had become of him. The sound of a vast approaching army couldn’t be ignored.

  ‘Go back!’ Eri told Timoken. ‘My task is not yet finished.’

  ‘But Eri . . .’

  ‘Go!’

  The wizard’s tone was so compelling, Timoken dared not disobey him. He left Eri standing between the castle entrance and the wall of leaves and flowers.

  Inside the castle, everyone gathered in the golden room and listened to Eri’s chanting. His powerful voice carried through the thick walls and resounded round the castle. It took on the sounds of the forest; a song that might have been made by wind in the leaves, a waterfall, the beat of wings, the humming of bees or the stealthy footfalls of a deer.

  And then came the other sounds, drowning the wizard’s voice. The thrum of hooves and the shouting of men.

  ‘What will they do to Eri?’ cried Karli.

  ‘They won’t catch him,’ said Timoken.

  ‘What if he doesn’t finish the spell?’ Elfrieda muttered.

  ‘He will,’ said Timoken firmly, though he didn’t feel as confident as he sounded.

  There was a bang at the end of one of the passages, the sound of running feet, and then Eri bowled into the room, his silver-streaked hair standing on end as if stiffened by frost, his beard full of twigs and his grey eyes flashing like a thunder cloud. ‘Done!’ he declared, and collapsed on the couch.

  What followed was stranger than anything Timoken could have imagined, and that included his first ride on a flying camel. As the roar of the army outside intensified, the walls of the castle began to thin. Horses and men could be seen through a veil of fine rain, a mist that glinted with droplets of silver. The mist dissolved until nothing remained between those inside the castle and the army outside; nothing but a sheet clearer than glass.